


Childhood's End

by fatallyserious



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Deviates From Canon, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Teddy is a 4yo, War AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-06-20 13:35:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15535401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatallyserious/pseuds/fatallyserious
Summary: After four long years of struggling, scavenging and isolation, Hermione meets a familiar face. War changes everyone, for better or worse. - [DRAMIONE] - War AU - Crossposted





	1. Canned Guavas

**Author's Note:**

> This story is cross-posted from FFnet so I can close my account there. Disclaimer and blah, blah, blah. This story is also entirely unbeta-ed. All errors (and there are a lot of them) are my own fault. Sorry. This fic has a sappy title. Sorry again.

_Canned guavas_ , thought Hermione as she leaned forward on her tippy-toes, shoulder deep in an abandoned grocery store shelving unit. Her stomach gave a pang of protest as she felt for the fruit's metal can. _Just give me one more can of guavas_. She grabbed hold of a metal cylinder and crossed her fingers mentally, slowly withdrawing her arm and hoping to be greeted by a lovely picture of said exotic fruit.

Canned corn. Damn.

But it certainly wasn’t the end of the world. It was still an edible food and it was better than nothing.

Hermione huffed at her corn and turned to check the young boy standing next to her quietly, bundled up in a thick grey jacket with a scarf fastened tightly around his neck. Underneath his heavy woollen hat, little beady eyes peered out and around, observing silently.

“Stay close.” She urged him in a hushed whisper. “Don’t wander away.” The little boy complied without a sound, moving closer to the young witch’s leg and looking up at her curiously.  
The last thing she needed was for him to go wandering off – again. The Death Eaters were doing their rounds more and more frequently, sweeping the land for anyone left who were not yet incorporated into their regime. Even here, in the middle of nowhere, in a tiny little abandoned town with no sign of life, they were searching. Hermione wondered if they would just search forever, until there were no supporters of the Order left in the world at all. Perhaps they would.

She remembered the atrocious night when it had taken place like it had happened only yesterday, fresh in her memory. It had all gone down in an instant, all lost in one abrupt moment ;explosions, panic, crucios and killing curses whizzing around in the air like they were nothing. So many good people fallen and so many unnecessary deaths. Dobby had perished, trying in earnest to protect them all, and it had surmounted to nothing. It was so pointless, the fighting, the death. She felt nothing but terror and confusion at the waste of it all.

She had lost Harry and Ron, her two best friends, somewhere in the midst of battle, and after so many failed attempts and miscommunications she wasn’t even sure if they were still alive or among the casualties. She recalled the sheer revulsion and shock that had consumed her upon discovering both Tonks and Remus’ lifeless bodies sprawled haphazardly on their floor, and then hearing a faint cry emanating from a small swaddled bundle near them.  
She had made a quick dash for the bundle before thinking clearly, she realized only in hindsight, had grabbed the portkey Kingsley had procured for her and felt herself being pulled away to another location, a secret place where she could hide and recover.

But that had been four years ago and she was still hiding, still trying to recover.

One step forward, two steps back.

Hermione slipped the canned corn into one of the large pockets of her thick coat, turning to the small boy and outstretching her hand. He reached his own gloved hand out instantly, holding onto Hermione’s with weak grip.  
“Let’s go, Teddy.” She whispered, leading them out of the abandoned store and into the open.

It was cold outside. The winters in this part of the world were rather unforgiving, as Hermione had found. She had become accustomed to a thick blanket of snow on all outdoor surfaces which stayed in place for a good part of the year. It made scavenging a rather tedious job, especially with a small child in tow, and Teddy was prone to wandering when he wasn't fastened to Hermione's side. And she had no idea where she was either, which only complicated her communication attempts. She was clever enough to figure out that the words displayed on the neglected shopfronts and stores in the town were in Russian, but that didn’t help pinpoint their location by any means. No navigational spells or charms seemed to work either, and she made sure to try all that she knew. She was lost, tossed into a far corner of the world and cut off from the wizarding community. Well, not entirely. The valiant supporters of Voldemort were still there to keep her company.

She led the way ahead through the snow, passing emptied out stores and eateries. At one point she assumed they would all have been bustling with life, but not now – not after the Death Eaters had begun their search. She presumed that the muggles had either been killed or captured, thankfully before she had arrived. The magical folk would have been captured, too, and either forfeited themselves to Voldemort, or were disposed of. Such was the present state of the world.

Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven, she thought bitterly to herself as she recalled the Muggle poem.

They didn’t walk too far, taking into consideration Teddy’s small legs, and their breath hung in the air in front of them despite the afternoon sun. There was another small shopping mart ahead and Hermione ducked in as they passed, eyeing the vicinity carefully before deeming it safe. She was after canned goods that ideally were still in date – a rarity now that most of the shelves in this part had long been picked dry before she had even arrived. She made her way down one of the isles, littered by old shopping bags and newspapers, stopping to eye up a box of dried lentils (or rather, what she assumed were lentils from the picture on the front of the package).

“Stay near me, Teddy.” She instructed, and the small boy nodded his head as well as he could with his tightly wrapped scarf, looking around again as Hermione rummaged as inaudibly as she could through the shelves. She opened the box of lentils quietly, removing and inspecting the inner plastic package carefully before slipping it into one of her extension-charmed pockets. Lentils were easy to make, water wasn’t an issue, and they lasted for days on end. Surviving 101. She then eyed up some cans, checking the expiration dates and letting out a small annoyed groan when she found they had already perished. Never had she thought it tragic to see lima beans spoil.

She was just slipping another edible can of corn quietly into her pocket when she heard it – something sliding against the metal of the shelving unit one isle over, quiet but definite. She snapped her eyes down to Teddy who was standing just as still and as silent as ever and felt her heart stutter. They weren’t alone. She drew a silent breath and held it, willing herself to be quiet as she froze, waiting for the next few seconds. They passed by painfully slowly as Hermione tried to pick up on every subtle noise. Desperately hoping it was just a simple cat or some other half-starved animal that was foraging, Hermione slowly raised a finger to her lips, lowering her brows at Teddy in an instructive way. He mimicked her action, raising a little gloved finger to his own rosy little lips in return. She tightened her own scarf apprehensively as she slowly moved towards the end of the isle, Teddy behind her, and chanced a look around the corner to where she heard the sound originate from.

A black robed figure stood not five feet away from her, hood drawn up, seemingly inspecting the cans on the reverse side of the unit that Hermione was standing by. She peered at it, watching cautiously as the figure moved very casually from one can to another in near silence, holding each one up just like Hermione had been doing to find the expiry stamp.

A peculiar notion for a Death Eater, she thought, to be picking through the abandoned scraps left in this town. But the figure was no doubt dressed in Death Eater robes, face hidden by the black hood. Perhaps they were getting a little desperate, too. It wouldn’t surprise her if Voldemort forced his followers to scurrange around for their own food like the rats that they were. It would be very fitting, indeed.

The figure was tall, no doubt masculine, and appeared almost distressed despite rummaging silently. Hermione would have laughed in any other situation, or if she had been given more time. The next series of events played out in slow motion and also out of sync. She didn’t hear what had startled the figure, but something had, something in her direction had alarmed it and it had frozen, like a deer caught in headlights before abruptly pulling a wand out of nowhere and directing it right at her. She heard a muttered _expulso_ , but her feet were already moving to grab Teddy and run. The usual procedure. A loud explosion rocked the small mart and knocked her sideways, pushing her into another isle. She grabbed for and held tightly onto Teddy and made a beeline for the exit. He wrapped his small arms and legs around her and held on like a limpet, no doubt from experience, as she fumbled blindly around the foodstuffs in one of her deep coat pockets for her wand. She looked back over her shoulder only to see another burst of light coming her way and darted just in time before finally finding and withdrawing her wand. She cast a quick _everte statum_ in the figure’s vague direction before turning on her heels and sprinting, back into the thick snow-covered street. It's dense texture slowed her down immensely.

 _Dear Merlin_ , it was like running through tar and she was panicking, out in the open with absolutely no cover and no protection. Her eyes darted around wildly, squeezing Teddy tightly with one hand as she held out her wand in the other. She ducked behind a line of abandoned cars on the street, trying desperately and fruitlessly to be quiet. Each step she took caused crunching underfoot, betraying her location.

“Wait,” She heard a muted voice call but it was muffled by the blood pumping fast in her ears as she tried to frantically escape. She didn’t have time to reflect on it, she had to move. No doubt Snatchers and more Death Eaters had heard the loud ruckus and would be apparating themselves to her location in seconds. She needed to get away as quickly as she could.

Ducking behind the fortunately placed cars, Hermione trudged through the snow with delayed speed, slipping occasionally but righting herself before falling. Teddy still held onto her for dear life and she cradled his small body close to hers with her free hand. She was aware the black figure had not only located but begun following her.

“I said wait, goddamn it!” She heard the figure yell again, and just where did she know that voice from? She tried to ignore the familiarity, pushing ahead in larger strides. “Granger, wait!”

How did he know her name? She paused, hesitating for a moment before she heard the air crackle with ominous magic, and knew she had made a mistake.

Death Eaters, two of them. She looked back over her shoulder. Well, three of them if she counted the one who knew her name. That was weird in and of itself. The two newly arrived Death Eaters stood ominously, shrouded in rising black smoke and dressed in stark contrast to the snowy white scenery. She clutched her wand tightly in her cold hand, turning her attention to Teddy as she set him down slowly on the snow-laden ground.

“Teddy, I need you to hide, okay?” She whispered quickly, indicating to one of the cars that she had been using as cover. Teddy nodded, again probably understanding the scenario from experience and got down on his hands and knees before shuffling his small body under the chassis. “Don’t come out until I find you.”

With him well hidden, she turned back to the Death Eaters who had now spotted her, slowly making their way over. Their hoods were up, identities hidden, wands at the ready. Cowards, Hermione thought but couldn’t help noticing the first one had disappeared and now only the two newer ones were advancing on her.

“A non-believer.” One spoke, voice laced with disgust as he rose his wand higher to conjure a spell. He was cut short when Hermione shouted a weak but speedy _flipendo_ his way, and then darted sideways through an emptied store front door. She hid down behind a counter, own wand out and ready, panting heavily as she anticipated a rebuttal and formed a duelling plan. She heard a killing curse shouted, and closed her eyes ready for her cover to be blown apart and into smithereens, but she felt nothing. A string of spells and curses were yelled in the distance, seemingly exchanged between the Death Eaters themselves. Quite confused, she opened her eyes and chanced a look above the counter. She saw a spell fly past the store front window but it wasn’t directed at her. And then another whizzed by. And another, back and forth.

Someone was fighting them, she reasoned, and squeezed her wand tighter before slowly moving towards the street again. Summoning her Gryffindor courage, Hermione peered out of the broken shop window. An _avada kadavra_ barely missed her and she ducked back and sucked in a breath, confused by what she had seen. Were they all just attacking each other now? Was that what the followers of Voldemort's ideals were reduced to? Free-for-alls? Surely not. What in the hell was going on? Slightly miffed and needing clarity, she sprang into action, hauling a _confringo_ at one of the two visible black figures with learned precision. It got him straight in the chest and although it was blocked it did knock him back. She expected it and as the other cloaked figure was distracted, Hermione raised her wand to prepare a stunner. It was for naught though, she realised, when she heard two _avada kadavras_ being conjured from thin air and aimed straight for them. The spells hit their targets and the two black figures slumped to the snow, lifeless and heavy.

The remaining figure who had seemingly been fighting on her side appeared from the ether, out of nowhere, and approached the two outwardly dead Death Eaters cautiously. Hermione didn’t watch or stay to thank him, instead darting immediately over to where Teddy was concealed and calling him out.

“Are you okay?” She whispered, voice laced with concern as she knelt down and grasped the small boy on either side of his ruddy cheeks. “Teddy, are you hurt? Are you okay?” He seemed unscathed and she was relieved, drawing him into a tight, suffocating hug before she realised the remaining black-cloaked figure was now watching.

She turned, hesitantly.


	2. Reunion Of Sorts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the first chapter didn’t make sense. Sorry if I’m away in my own little world and leaving major plot holes. I’m so very, very sorry. Disclaimer, etc.

The hand of time is an interesting concept. Sometimes it changes people radically, giving them a hard aging shove. Sometimes it is only a subtle caress. But no matter the degree to which aging distorts one's appearance, it is a concept only truly appreciated by distance and recollection.

It is eerie to find one's self in the presence of someone you have not set eyes upon for a great deal of time, to see a face that looks both familiar but also bears little resemblance to memories.

Hermione understood.

And so she stared at him, ignoring all instincts that screamed not to, that staring open-mouthed at someone would have been considered rude in any other situation. She stared for an embarrassing amount of time, beyond anything considered decent.

But she couldn’t help herself but gawk. Her legs weren't working and her mouth had failed to form any words. It was almost like a bizarre, uncanny school reunion, except it was only him. Him and her and Teddy, clinging to her side.

Draco Malfoy, her childhood bully and known Death Eater, there in the flesh.

In the snow.

In the street.

In her little hideaway town somewhere in Russia.

It dazed her, outright bewildered and caught her off guard. It had been so long since she had seen a familiar face and, although he did look remarkably different, she felt the same flurry of emotion as she had from their last confrontation. When had that been, even? She barely remembered. All her memories felt uneasy as she tried to recall them, one by one.

He looked older, paler than he had been in school. If possible, he was even more pointy-faced - and a little underfed if his sharp cheekbones and deeply set eyes were any indication. Of course, she doubted that she looked any better off given the circumstances. Scavenging for food provided neither a reliable or consistent diet to exist on, and the majority of her findings were offered to Teddy before herself.

As if sensing she was examining him, which she very openly was, he emitted a strangled noise of disdain and sneered at her.

Malfoy Manor.

That was the last time she had seen him. Hermione’s memories came flooding back in a violent wave. She had been tortured, her mind ripped apart and her body defiled right before him, and by his own family, on the cold hard floor of his childhood home, no less. And he had done nothing, said nothing, just looked at her in contempt as if it tainted his very being to watch it unfold. She hadn't thought about that particular event in a while, tried not to for the pain it caused.

He hadn't helped her then, although she wondered if anything he could have done would have helped at all. Perhaps not. Despite any good intentions that may have come her way, Voldemort had taken up residence in Draco's home and more or less condemned him to a life of servitude - or so she thought. How he stood before her, dressed as a Death Eater yet without a malicious air about him, eluded her.

Nonetheless, she didn't need the distraction of Draco Malfoy to get in the way of her and Teddy's survival.

Hermione picked Teddy up again, turned on her heels and begun moving. It would be a cold day in Hell before she stopped to acknowledge Draco Malfoy. She was a few steps away when she felt a smugness bloom within her, realising that he was indeed scavenging just as she was, struggling to survive just like Teddy and her, and picking through the remnants of what was left in this tiny town. _Serves him right_.

“Goddamn you, Granger! Wait!” She heard him call, heard him following her through the snow as she tried to depart from his presence.

“I’d rather not.” She replied tartly, clutching Teddy tightly. The little boy watched over her shoulder as Draco followed them, tightening his arms around Hermione’s neck. “Duels are loud. With any luck there’s about to be a gathering of _your_ kind here and I’d rather not take part.”

“You stupid bint.” Draco hissed, suddenly close enough to grab her by the arm and wrench her around to face him. She gasped, unaccustomed to such handling, and stared up at him defiantly, chin raised to show she was not intimidated.

“Don’t touch me!” She demanded in a shrill voice, pulling her arm away from him as if his grip scolded her, She cradled Teddy’s small frame delicately, narrowing her eyes her blond offender.

Despite the malnourishment, she noted he had become quite tall – tall enough to loom over her. Hermione jutted her chin forward proudly, although it didn’t really have the same effect that it would have had years back.

“Still don't listen, huh? Impressive.” He scowled, surprising Hermione by letting go of her arm as she had requested and dropping his hand to his side. His light eyes darted from hers to Teddy’s form and then back to hers again, brows furrowing. She watched him guardedly and observed that he did indeed look like quite the oddity. Aside from thin, his hair was a greasy mess of platinum, his Death Eater robes unkempt and tattered. He also looked frozen. She mentally questioned why he was even wearing the robes in the first place, if they didn’t seem to do anything. _Idiot,_ she thought inwardly.

“It’s a farce.” He responded to her unasked question, indicating down to his attire. “If I look like one, I’m less likely to be hunted by snatchers.”

"The snatchers work for your Master." Hermione corrected him, shifting the weight of Teddy as she idled. She was about to turn again when Draco snapped at her.

"I'm not one." He barked almost too quickly, defensively crossing his arms. "Not anymore."

She supposed that made sense. If he wasn’t following Voldemort's regime, then it would be smart to blend in with those that were, lest he be singled out.  
Though a Malfoy changing to the pro-Muggle side of the war didn’t quite sound right. There was nothing the remaining Order could offer him that Voldemort and his Death Eaters couldn’t. In fact there was a lot _less_ they could offer. He would have given up safety, security and protection – all for what?

“Cute kid.” Draco broke her out of her reasoning with the same sarcastic drawl she remembered from her school days. She flinched almost automatically at his tone. “Who’s the father? Fuck, don’t tell me it’s Weasle’s.” Hermione must have made an offended face because he arched a suspicious brow at her and then added to his question. “Who?”

“A better question would be who is the mother.” Hermione replied and felt a tug of guilt pull in her chest.

Teddy was Tonk’s and Remus’ child, a little bundle that she had taken with her on that fateful day. _Rescued_ , she reminded herself. She had rescued him. But she still felt a certain remorse for her actions. She had even port keyed with him - an infant! It was not only a reckless move, but a dangerous one at that. And he never knew his parents, being too young at their demise to ever remember them, to ever know of the wonderful and brave things they had both done. Not only for the Order, but for so much more.

It also startled her a bit when she considered that, in a way, Draco was Teddy’s flesh and blood family. A cousin, truth-be-told, closer to family than she could ever be. But she doubted Draco needed her to throw that at him right then and there, not sure how he would even react if he wasn't fighting to survive.

“He’s not yours, then?” Draco asked with a perplexed expression. Hermione firmly shook her head, eyeing the blond incredulously.

“Are you daft?” She huffed at him and repositioned Teddy on her hip. “I’d have to have been carrying him while we were still at school.”

Draco became agitated then, taking personal offense when she suggested his lack of observation. But he was rather preoccupied with ruining innocent people’s lives later in their school years, she had thought. Not a lot of time to noticed the small details. 

“Hard to tell.” He sneered at her again, looking down his nose at her despite their circumstances. “You could have been up the duff and just covered it well, what, with all the frumpy school jerseys you wore.”

“Oh, do shut up.” She frowned and turned on her heels again, thinking about all the times she took those jerseys for granted. What she wouldn’t do to have one right now, a nice big woollen jersey to find comfort in.

“Sorry,” Draco called as she tried to depart once again, a phrase that was so utterly un-Malfoy that she turned back to make sure she had heard it right. He was apologising? What in Harry’s name was going on? “We have a safehouse not far from here if you’re looking for shelter.”

If there had been railing nearby or a wall to hold her weight, Hermione would have taken it, for the shook of Malfoy offering her anything remotely helpful was enough to knock her off her feet. She eyed him suspiciously, looking for a tell, a clue to explain his sudden hospitality.

But there was nothing, just a hesitant look. No sneer, no grin or grimace. Nothing to give any indication that he was lying or teasing. He seemed sincere, so unlike himself. It was eerie for someone who she knew to be so horrible to be acting so civil. It felt like it went against the natural laws of the Earth. She watched him chew his lip tentatively.

But they had a safehouse, and that piqued her interest considerably. So did Draco's use of ' _we'_.

“We?” She questioned, after a brief pause.

“My…mother and father.”

She heard the hesitation in his voice and concluded only what she could. His tone seemed to change at the mention of Lucius and Narcissa, indicating some sort of conflict within his immediate family. Although Hermione had thought there had been near constant conflict in his family while he had been at school - or rather she assumed it, given the fact his father was indeed Lucius Malfoy. _How could there not be conflict with **that** as a father?_ She remembered both of his parents at the manor, too. Only a brief encounter though, as it was his Auntie who was at the forefront.

Hermione shivered.

“Your parents are here, too?” She asked doubtingly, wondering just how on Earth even he had ended up in the same location as her, let alone his whole family. She couldn’t help but notice he kept glancing up and around at their surroundings, maintaining eye contact for only minimal amounts of time. He was waiting, watching for something.

“We _all_ turned ourselves over to get away from You-know-who.” He accentuated the word all, looking rather frustrated with having to divulge his story to her. “The Order, or what was left of them, gave us a portkey once we were declared as defectors.”

Defectors.

The word didn't sit right on Hermione's tongue, not when it was spoken about him and his family.

  
Draco pulled his black hood back up, striding ahead and muttering. “If you want to come with me, then we have to move it.”

Hermione faltered. Surely his parents wouldn’t exactly be welcoming to her, one of the Mudbloods they all had been so eager to eradicate not so long ago. Despite Draco's self-proclaimed defection, Hermione very much doubted they would eagerly invite her into their home. And yet, their apostasy of everything they had ever stood for didn't sit right with Hermione either.

Defection would have seemed like a cowardice move, right up the Malfoy family’s alley, if not for the fact it bought about more complications than they were already facing. She wondered again why they even decided to defect at all. Had they all suddenly sprouted consciences since she had seen them last? Since she had been abused and _crucioed_ within an inch of her life inside their residence?

Draco wasn’t waiting, he was leaving no matter what she chose to do, already way ahead of her. She looked down in her arms at Teddy, his chubby little wind-burnt face looking back at her innocently. She supposed it would be nice to have somewhere to stay that was relatively safe, if just for one night. The liability she felt in taking Teddy was at least appeased by such a notion. Hopping from place to place was exhausting for the both of them and she was sick of having to sleep with one eye open, wand at the ready - just in case.

She followed.

\---

A safehouse. That was what Draco had called it, although truthfully it looked like a cross between Hagrid’s hut and the Shrieking Shack. It was very dilapidated, nestled in between other similar looking buildings which all appeared equally as run down. Perhaps it was a smart move, hiding in the most run-down area of town to avoid detection.

“Just a warning,” Draco called back to her from where he marched ahead as they approached. Their trek through the snow had otherwise been in silence. “My father…well, he’s not really…”

Draco seemed to be at a loss for words, which in itself was a rare sight to behold. He had never kept his mouth to himself in school. Hermione furrowed her brows and placed Teddy down onto the snow now that they drew near. She had wondered what would have swayed Lucius Malfoy to betray Voldemort. She could picture Draco’s mother trying in earnest to protect herself and her son, but his father? He and the Dark Lord had been on very good terms before the war had broken out.

“He’s not really with-it at the moment.” Draco finished, before adding, “I don’t even think he really knows where he is. We used to say Aunt Bella was the crazy one in the family, but now I think it might be-“

Hermione had stopped dead in her tracks at the mention of his Aunt. It wasn't that she had forgotten the ordeal, certainly not. But she tried not to remember it. it hurt to remember it - physically.

The _cruciatus_ curse was banned for good reason. Four long years later and a mere name was enough to evoke a memory, enough to respark forgotten nerve endings and relive torture as if it was happening again. The pain, the waves of it, over and over and unending, and then tenfold. It was more than Hermione had ever thought she could bear. Absently she reached for her forearm, squeezing the wound carved into her flesh beneath her many layers of clothing.

Draco noticed his faux pas and stopped as well, eyes narrowed as he watched her reaction. He had forgotten about her ordeal with his Auntie, forgotten about the way she had been treated. In all honesty, he had been trying to block that whole event out of his mind since it had happened, and he had almost succeeded. Suffice to say, after failing to identify his former classmates, Draco had been in for a _very_ rough time of his own.

Teddy gave a little huff, enough to interrupt Hermione's thoughts. She looked down at him, wiping a stray tear away before it spilt down her cheek. She locked away the pain that radiated right through her whole being, ignoring the words that branded her arm.

It’s okay, Teddy.” She soothed him, soothing herself with the same words. It would be okay, wouldn’t it?

After a moment of composure, she noted the safehouse wasn’t exactly protected by very strong magic. The spells really needed reinforcement. Draco opened the front door with some effort, stepping inside and flipping his hood back again in the comfort of familiarity. He visibly seemed to relax within the dwelling, moving toward a small kitchenette area next to the entrance way and depositing items from inside his robes onto a counter top.

The inside of the house was just like the outside, in a dire state of disrepair. It was very dimly lit and rather dusty but Hermione could just make out a lone couch pulled close to a fireplace, which she noted was out and didn’t look like it had ever been going. Opposite the fireplace, a gloomy stairway lead up to a shadowed second floor. That, apart from the small kitchen area, was it. Rather unlavish for a Malfoy, she hummed to herself. She wondered how he was surviving here without his many great assets and what she had always assumed were his many servants.

“Father is upstairs.” He muttered, placing the cans and other objects he had collected on the counter top carefully. “He doesn’t really get out of bed, except to shower, and even then it’s a fucking circus. Mother stays with him, mostly.”

Hermione nodded slowly and directly Teddy to sit on the ground near her. He ignored her and instead fastened himself tightly to her leg.

  
She took a chance to inspect Malfoy’s collection, to see what he was existing on. It wasn’t a very good haul, she noted immediately. Only a few cans of pasta sauce (why in Merlin’s name would he grab such a useless item) and what looked like some type of dried fruit.

“Can I count my inventory here?” She inquired, dipping her hands into her own pockets to remove the contents. Draco didn’t reply but inclined his head. She took it as a yes and began to heave everything out of her pockets and onto the counter. To her surprise, Draco seemed rather intrigued with what she had acquired as she began to withdraw various plastic bags and pouches, cans of fruit and small boxes of miscellaneous goods. It went on and on for quite a while and Draco finally realised why she was so slow when she moved through the snow. She had to carry not only Teddy but almost an entire shopping cart of supplies with her as well.

It was quite a collection, appreciated only upon seeing it displayed it such a way, and it covered the entire countertop.

But then, if this was what she was living on, how in the world was Draco surviving? She compared her mighty collection to his own and pondered. And having to split his meager rations between three people?

But then, of course!

She realised, in near horror at how ignorant she was being, that he almost wasn’t surviving at all. Having been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, Draco was evidently barely keeping himself and his family afloat. Years of having house elves waiting on him hand and foot had rendered him nearly useless when it came to roughing it. Oh, how the mighty had fallen. Both Harry and Ronald would have had a field day with this, and she could almost hear their laughter at the mere thought of it.

Draco Malfoy - the boy who starved to death because he didn't know how to scavenge for food.

It would be funny, if not so serious a disadvantage.

After a quick moment, Hermione’s overwhelming compassion kicked in and she pulled out her wand. Draco froze for a second, fingers twitching by his sides as if he thought she was going to strike him and needed to respond. His eyes were wide, worried, and Hermione felt a strum of pity for him. He was wound tighter than an elastic band, she observed, ready to snap at the drop of a hat. But she didn’t attack him, instead intending to offer him a hand.

“Right, let’s go outside and start on the wards.” She instructed in an overly bossy, Hermione-like way. He gave her an incredulous look, shaking his head, although satisfied she was not going to harm him.

“Sod off, Granger. The wards are fine.” He muttered.

“They’re weak.” She accused, knowing fully well that he was probably the only one actually casting them. If his father had resigned himself to bed, and his mother didn’t leave his side, she assumed Draco was the only one actually doing anything useful at all. He was the only one looking for food, which explained why he looked half-starved. It was one thing to be a pureblood wizard, it was another to be a stuck-up arrogant aristocrat unable to gather together a decent meal.

“If we reinforce them, we could light a fire.” She suggested.

She watched Draco’s cold grey eyes dart over to the empty fire place and back to her again, as if contemplating her suggestion. She could tell he was as chilly as she was and yet he wasn’t wearing nearly as many layers as her. How he hadn’t succumb to frostbite was beyond her. His robes were thin and flimsy.  
Eventually he reluctantly agreed, as she thought he would, and she followed him outside (with Teddy still attached to her leg) to begin on a protective charm.

\---

“Would you like to cook or start the fire?” She had asked him once the wards were strong and in place. He gave her such a pained expression in response that she wished she hadn’t asked.

“Really?” Hermione questioned skeptically from where she tended to Teddy on the hardwood floor. “You can’t cook or light a fire?”

“Servant work.” He had tossed her a look of revulsion as he shrugged off his robes, wearing only a t-shirt and set of ragged dress pants beneath. “I never had to do it.”

How in Godrick's name was he not an iceblock, she wondered. Looking at him made her cold. She pulled her scarf around her neck tighter.

He could light the fire of course, it was just a very simple spell, but it was the matter of keeping it going that he had never had to master. And he wasn’t about to sit down by the hearth and shoot flames out of wand every five minutes to keep it alight. Energy, and by extention magic, were scarce.

“How have you been surviving?” Hermione wondered aloud as she occupied the young boy in front of her with a bag of boiled sweets she had found a day before, eyeing Draco suspiciously. “Aren’t you hungry? Aren't you cold? You look frozen.”

He had shaken his head, looking down at her with a look of contempt. Hermione huffed and in a small fit of furry, she had stood and marched over to the fire, barking orders at him. “Right, go get me some small twigs and I’ll show you how to light it.”

Surprisingly he did exactly as she requested. He pulled a face and trudged over to the door, yanked it open and left. Hermione’s brows knitted together in unanticipated worry, considering he might just freeze to death out in the snow with only a t-shirt on. But within five minutes he was back again, dropping a bundle of sticks loudly beside the fireplace with a sour look on his face.

She ignored it, crumpling up an old discarded newspaper she had found and sticking it in the fire’s grate before stacking the twigs on top.

“They’re dry.” She commented out of astonishment more than anything and she heard him snort from beside her where he stood, looming over her as he watched.

“I’m not that thick, Granger, give me some credit.”

She supposed he wasn't, if she remembered correctly. He had nearly surpassed her in their shared potions classes. Nearly. She huffed and continued to stack the twigs on top, uncomfortably aware that he was looming over her like a predator, then reached for her wand and pressed it below the grate to where some newspaper stuck out, uttering a spell. The newspaper caught flame but quickly died back down into only a smoking mass.

Grabbing the last piece of newspaper, she unfolded it and held it out across the hearth.  
“Hold the other side.” She instructed him and then pressed her side up against the bricking of the fireplace. He knelt down and followed her instruction, although he looked both confused and unenthusiastic as he did so, observing the newspaper bowing in the middle as if being sucked inward toward the fire.

“Are you sure this is-“ He begun to ask but she hushed him, leaning closer to the newspaper and craning her neck to hear better. After a moment of what Draco thought was mere silence, he heard, rather to his surprise, a gentle roar of flames from behind the newspaper and then Hermione had peeled her side away from the hearth to reveal new flames that had sprung up and licked the neatly stacked twigs.

“Nice trick.” He complimented, although made it sound more like an insult. “Why not just use your wand again?”

“Conservation.” She replied rather matter-of-factly, and he understood all too well. “In times like this, I’d rather conserve all the energy I can and do something the Muggle way, rather than expend it unnecessarily.”

At Draco’s scow, she added, “Plus, it’s only a fire. If I had a muggle lighter, I’d rather have used that.”


	3. The Fireside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so anxious that there are obvious HP universe things I’m blatantly missing or ignoring here, considering this fandom is so sprawling. Sorry if I’m overlooking stuff. Also, disclaimer.

“--easier if Father didn’t weigh a fucking tonne!” She heard Draco’s offhand insults as they echoed down through the ceiling, stomping strides back and forth and the slamming of many doors. She stared up at the roof as she eavesdropped openly on her hosts from her improvised bed on the hard wooden floor.

After successfully lighting the fire yesterday, she had been delighted to find the oven in the dusty kitchenette used gas (a Muggle concept that had completely eluded Draco) and so she had made use of one of the cans of pasta sauce he had collected,] prior, and a large bag of pasta shells she had horded in her earlier escapades. The batch she cooked was enough to efficiently feed four and a half people. After dishing herself and Teddy a small plate each (and she was very, very appreciative to have found a set of dusty plates in one of the cupboards) Draco had taken the remainder upstairs to where he assumedly rationed it out to his parents and himself. She wondered what sort of state they were in, considering Draco’s current predicament and shuddered at the thought. Two adults rendered as useless as children by war, both unwilling to leave their room? How long had Draco let them be cooped-up in there? Had he told them there was a Mudblood downstairs? That a Mudblood had cooked their food? She herself had half expected him to claim she had poisoned it once she was done. If the sour looks he had given her as she cooked were anything to go by, she was very surprised he hadn’t. He had kept suprisingly quiet and seemed reluctantly grateful to have a warm meal, which made Hermione wonder again about what he had been eating.

He hadn’t known about the gas oven, hadn’t bothered to light a fire, and his protective charms were wary at best. She was surprised he was even still alive, let alone both Lucius and Narcissa.

She had made a bed up for Teddy on the lone sofa from her discarded jackets and clothing items, and he was out to it like a drunken fairy, oblivious to all the commotion happening above him.  
She vaguely wondered what Draco was trying to get his father to do, but tried not to dwell on the mental images it conjured. Interrupted by another round of flippant verbal offense, she sighed and lay back down. The unmistakable sound of pipes clanging somewhere in the walls indicated Draco was trying to coax his father into a shower, she supposed.

What she would give for a shower, to wash out her matted curls. Gods, she must have looked a right mess. Like Medusa herself, Hermione's curls had become thick tangled dreads half resembling snakes. It was scary was the lack of a proper hair care routine for four years could do.

Truthfully, she didn’t think she could ever really have felt bad for Draco and his family before yesterday. They were, after all, the bane of her entire existence through high school. While Draco picked and prodded at her wellbeing during her curricular activities, his father belittled and depreciated her entire family. And, of course, there was the niggling fact that Draco had slain their old headmaster. Albus Dumbledore had always been so good to Hermione, Ron and Harry. The epitome of trust and reassurance. She couldn’t just push the concept of his death right out of her mind. Draco was a murderer – a Death Eater. And he was even branded as such with a tattoo, no less.

She had hated Draco, loathed him, and had made her opinions discernibly clear on so many occasions during their school days. But he had been maniacal, laughing haughtily with his fellow Slytherins as he had stared down his nose at her and her kind, determined to show the world that he was better, and that he could afford better things because of it.   
Harry had once told Hermione about his very first meetings with Draco Malfoy back when she, Harry and Ron had still shared a common room. He had told them of his alterations encounter before their first year had even started, to a bizarre meeting on the Hogwarts Express where Draco had tried unsuccessfully to befriend him.

The concept made both Ron and Hermione grin like the giddy school children they had been when Harry had told them. He hadn’t wanted to be friends with Draco, and for that she was very thankful. But she couldn't help but wonder who in their right mind would have? He had been atrocious to everyone, even the very few people who he seemed to surround himself with - the other pureblood elitists who were just as unagreeable and stuck-up as him.

Hermione fisted her hand automatically as she heard footsteps coming down the staircase behind the couch. She sat up, eyeing a dishevelled Draco as he headed over to the kitchen area and rummaged in an above cupboard for a glass.

“Hot water.” He muttered as he stuck his glass under the kitchen sink tap and turned it. A heavy stream of water filled both the glass and the sink and then steam rose up into the darkened night air in front of him. “How did that happen..?”  
As if feeling Hermione’s eyes watching him, he stared over to where she sat and quirked a brow. “Father wouldn’t…cooperate. Sorry if I woke you.”

She shook her head and glanced at Teddy who was still deeply asleep. “It’s a wet-back, I suppose.” She murmured in belated response to his question. Draco looked at her blankly, and she quickly explained.

“The fire, I mean. It’s a wet-back. My parents used to have one. It heats the water when the fire is going.”

He continued to stare at her from where he stood in the kitchenette, steaming glass in hand.

"Very good Muggle invention, don’t you think?" She asked, absently brushing hair from Teddy’s face. The small boy lay bundled and dozing next to the warm fire.

“And what is a lighter?” Draco asked abruptly, as if pushing her for information. He observed Hermione’s hand become motionless where it lingered over Teddy’s face.

“A lighter?” She repeated, brows arching as she turned her attention to him.

“A lighter. You said you’d have used one to light the fire if you had one earlier.” Draco quickly recalled. “What is it?”

Hermione felt the corners of her lips pull into something akin to a smile as she contemplated his sudden desire of knowledge regarding the Muggle artifact. If there was ever an unexpected question, this was it.

“A lighter,” She begun, “Is a small device that produces a flame. It’s filled with a flammable fluid, and you strike the top of it to spark a light. Really handy when you’re camping.”

“Camping?” Draco questioned, and Hermione was staggered by the fact he was pressing her for information. “What is camping?”

She had begun to tell him what camping was, and how she had been many times with her father who was an avid camper despite his profession. Somewhere between her explanations, Draco had crept nearer and nearer to the fire she was sitting beside until he was cross-legged on the ground opposite her nest of blankets, still readily absorbing any information she offered.  
It shouldn’t have surprised her that he was so engrossed in their conversation. She understood he hadn’t really had anyone to talk to except for his parents for a very long time and, having heard the extent of their communication through the ceiling, she knew that was a bit lacking. He probably yearned to have a normal intellectual discussion, and so he was engaging as best he knew how. Frankly, she didn’t mind as she was in much of the same boat.

Teddy was a lovely, intelligent little boy – but he was mute. He had never said a word in his life, and Hermione wasn’t sure if it was due to some medical issue she couldn’t identify, or if it stemmed from the fact that Hermione was the only person he had ever known, who had ever talked to him. She supposed a lack of exposure could have very well resulted in his absence of verbal communication. But he was happy and healthy aside from that, and after four long years under Hermione’s close watch, he could communicate very well with his physical expressions in leu of sounds.

“Dentists?” Draco screwed his face up at their current topic of conversation, running his tongue over his teeth as she watched. She didn't remember ever seeing him so close up before. He looked incredibly pale and ghost-like by the fire side, like a spectre or a shade.

“Sounds horrid.”

“Oh, no, it’s fascinating.” She enthused. “There’s so many different procedures and techniques to master. I always thought I’d follow in my parents’ footsteps when I was younger, well, before…you know.”

She trailed off and glanced down awkwardly at the hardwood floor in-between them. They were both still for a moment until Draco sharply turned one pale wrist inward where he leaned weight on it.

That was the one, she remembered, that bore the Dark Mark. She could have entirely forgotten about the brand on his forearm, the dark blemish that eluded to his particularly bad choice in life. She hadn’t noticed it earlier at all. Perhaps he was immensely good at hiding it, holding his arms in such a way as to not draw her attention. Oddly considerate of him, she thought.

His cognitive guards were lowered and she had never seen him in such a state of ease before, and perhaps never quite this magnified. He was absorbing everything she was offering him like a sponge. Her mind spun back to Hogwarts but the only memories she could conjure were those of him taunting her from his clique of elite snake-pit buddies, or flicking things at her during mixed-house potions classes. But it was all from a distance.   
Even as he witnessed her in the midst of torture administered by his own Aunt, it had been from afar. And she had never seen him act so genuinely normal that it felt whimsical, as if it was all just a strange dream that she might wake up from. And what would she feel if she did? Relief that it had been a dream? Or was she applying a value to their sudden companionship already? The notion was absurd, surely.

He had shuffled in ridiculously close to her and the fire, which she suspected was because he was indeed cold but wouldn’t admit to it. _Idiot_ , she thought again.   
At school, if he had ever been this close to her being, she would have expected him to physically assault her or do something just as dastardly. But he didn’t. He just engaged in their discussion like a friend would. She wondered why he acted too proud to admit he felt the cold, but assumed it was another weird Malfoy trait that didn’t make much sense. Those bloody highbrow arses and their bizarre beliefs.

Earlier he had fetched her an old blanket with which to make a bed for herself on the hard-wooden floor, which honestly was the most extravagant accommodation she had experienced in quite some time. She wondered if he maybe only had the one though, and if that was why he was acting overly ignorant to the temperature. She wondered many things about his peculiar existence.

“Isn’t dentistry supposed to be rather lucrative?” He questioned, sounding more like his old money-obsessed snooty self with his pompous drawl. Her heart leapt a little at that again, but she wasn’t sure why. Perhaps, if she concentrated hard enough and let her mind wander far enough, it almost felt as though they were back in a Hogwarts class again, and the war hadn’t yet begun.

“It can be.” She replied with a cryptic answer and stifled a yawn, absently wondering what the time was. “Geez, Malfoy, are you going to talk my ear off all night?”

As soon as she had said it, despite meaning for it to be light hearted, she wished she could have taken it back. His response to her apparent need to end their conversation had, for some reason she couldn't identify, offended him. She could see it very plainly on his unguarded face as he retreated and shut down, withdrawing and throwing up mental walls around himself again.

“You’re right, I should get to bed.” He muttered and stood up, making his way to leave.

“G-goodnight.” She wished him, mentally hexing herself.

He didn’t reply as he ascended the stairs.

\---

Hermione had woken at the crack of dawn, as per her usual morning routine. She frowned, hoping to have slept in a little more and now finding herself wide awake with nothing to do.

She turned to the fire and rekindled it, stoking the embers and throwing a new log on top that Draco had been gracious enough to bring in sometime before he went back upstairs in the early hours of that morning. She had marvelled again at how he had managed to find another dry fuel source for the fire. Teddy was still dozing next to her, his hat fallen to the floor and his hair a vibrant shade of vermillion in its absence. He almost looked like a little Ron when his hair was that shade, sans freckles of course.

A sad pulling sensation tightened in her chest.

Ignoring it and considering her options, she stood up and stretched before heading over to the kitchen and looking through her possessions which still littered the counter top. She had more than enough ingredients to make a soup out of stock cubes, freeze dried vegetables and lentils she had found.

Hurriedly she set to work, welcoming something to occupy her mind for a while. But inevitably, thoughts of the prior night seeped back in as she tried to busy herself, boiling water over the stove-top flame. They had been having such a genuinely pleasant conversation until she had gone and ballsed it all up. Draco had become somewhat, for lack of better words, _delicate_ after being isolated and cut off for so long, and she just had to go and tread all over his newfound confidence in her.

“What are you making?”

She jumped about a foot in the air, spinning from the stove-top to meet him where he stood on the bottom step of the stairs. He was leaning his weight against the wall, indicating he had possibly been there for some time, observing her in silence. Hermione felt her cheeks go hot and she desperately tried to recall if she had been subconsciously speaking out loud as she was sometimes prone to do, talking to the soup as she cooked it.

He gave her a lazy half-expectant look, but she quickly found herself too engrossed in his appearance to respond. Instead of the flimsy t-shirt he had been wearing the previous night, he was now clad in a seemingly decent set of winter clothes, including a black coat. Trust a Malfoy to be hording a set of expensively tailored clothes during a war, she thought. But the thing that caught her quite off guard was his hair. Gone was the greasy mess that rivalled her own. Now it was tamed, styled even, and washed – definitely washed. She raked her eyes up and down his body, ogling unabashedly.

He still had a questioning look on his face, still waiting for her answer, although it was fast being tainted by an air of smugness that was entirely too Draco for Hermione to stand. She quickly realised this must have been the reaction he was planning to evoke. Gussying up to make a statement.

“You clean up well.” She told him very plainly and turned back to the pot on the stove, the heat still high in her cheeks. “I’m making soup, if you can’t already smell it.”

While half of her mind was still wondering why he exactly had suddenly put himself together, the other was angrily fizzing away at the likelihood that it was purposefully done to outdo her. Was the fact that he had washed and dressed himself satisfactorily an attempt at distancing himself from her? To make himself look better in comparison? Were his elitist notions really engrained in him that deeply? So much so that they surpassed his natural primal instincts? Would she ever be able to wash her hair here, or would she still be resigned to roughing it in the open frigid rivers?

Draco was about to reply when a shuffle from the couch caught his attention.  
“Oh, you’re…child is awake.” He pointed out, inelegance evident as he fumbled for the right words. It didn't really sound right. Her child? Not quite.

Teddy sat up and yawned, stretching his little arms out and over his head as he took in his surroundings. Turning and peering over the top of the couch, his eyes met Draco’s and he froze mid-stretch, as if petrified on the spot. Then his lower lip quivered, and his large eyes filled quickly with wet stinging tears.

“Oh, Gods, no.” Draco started, alarmed and striding over with his arms out as if to muffle the four-year-old. “Don’t do that.”  
But Teddy was doing it anyway, and he opened his mouth and let out a wail that…never really came. Tears slid down his rosy little cheeks but apart from that, and a few sniffles, he was otherwise silent.

“It’s okay, Teddy.” Hermione appeared and pushed past Draco to scoop the small boy up into her arms. He calmed almost the instant he touched her, to Draco’s relief, but he still found the whole incident perplexing.

Hermione caught him peering at Teddy with narrowed eyes and felt the need to clarify.  
“He doesn’t talk.” She rubbed Teddy’s back and he held on like a little monkey around her neck, sniffles settling down. “He’s never talked, really. Although, one time he squealed when we stopped to pat some kittens we came across.”

“So, he’s...silent?” Draco looked openly disturbed by the notion that Teddy was mute, struggling to wrap his head around it. “And he’s _not_ yours?”

Hermione nodded, worrying her bottom lip as she settled Teddy back on the couch.

“What’d you do? Steal him?” Draco accused, but it was said in a perky, joking sort of way that she didn't even know Draco could convey.  
She remained silent, returning to the kitchenette and her simmering soup, purposefully ignoring him. After dishing it up, the remainder was once again left to Draco and his shut-in family members above them.

“There’s a bathroom upstairs.” Draco mentioned to her later as he deposited his empty dishes in the kitchenette sink. Hermione was sat on the ground with Teddy, trying in earnest to clean the soup off his face where it had spilled and crusted. “If you want to…y’know.”  
He waved his hand around his head, indicating to his hair and implying that she may want to do the same.

She hesitated, only because risking a run-in with his mother or father upstairs might actually be nightmare worthy, but ultimately her own selfishness prevailed. She would kill for a wash and it had been going on two or so weeks since she had braved the icy depths of any rivers. She knew Teddy desperately needed one, too.

“That would be…wonderful, if you wouldn’t mind.”


	4. The Lookout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m rereading the books again and what a mistake. I’m now constantly comparing all my writings with JKR’s, even though I know her stories are aimed at children. But her characters just hop around all over the place and mine refuse to move. Also, disclaimer.

There was a definite spring in her step, Draco had noticed, as she exited the small bathroom and carried Teddy downstairs on her hip. She was practically beaming to herself, ignoring the suspicious look he was casting her way as she passed him and placed Teddy down beside the crackling fire.

“I think we both deserve it.” She said to the child before raising her wand and uttering a short drying charm to both of their heads. Teddy’s damp and dripping hair suddenly puffed up into a feathery mop of shocking pink under the spell, forcing a giggle out of him. Hermione’s own chocolate brown ringlets reformed, just as wild and untamed as ever but pleasingly clean and untangled. Draco took note of how favorably they cascaded over her shoulders and framed her subtle features.

Was he getting desperate or what? That thought was beyond sickening.

“You seem to clean up pretty well, yourself.” Draco interrupted as he parroted Hermione’s words earlier in the day with a snide tone, unsure of what to make of his unexpected and unwarranted attraction to her appearance.

“What can I say?” She glared over to him, but her attitude was light-hearted. “I haven’t had a decent shower in four years.”

“Four years.” He screwed his face up at that. Four years had passed so quickly and yet he had accomplished hardly anything at all. He had found himself and his parents a shelter, nay, a shack. But that was it. Apart from trying to collect enough food every day to get them through to the next, he hadn’t made any progress. And in only the first day Hermione had arrived, she had them eating warm food and having hot showers – and enjoying a fire! He was appallingly ill-equipped to live the rough sort of life.

“Crazy to think about, huh?” She was pulling on her coat, the one with many pockets and Draco mulled her words over in his mind. Yes, it was crazy to think that she, a Muggle-born, lesser-class witch was more proficient at surviving than he was. It was crazy to think that in the last four years he had done nothing but struggle and fail while she was seemingly succeeding in leaps and bounds. It was school all over again. A Mudblood was running circles around him and his family, but for once he found it oddly difficult to get upset over. He found himself experiencing a weird emotion that he didn’t often encounter. Dear Merlin, was he thankful? His parents would certainly be appalled.

She was heading towards the door and he assumed it was time to reinforce the wards and so followed, Teddy trailing shyly after him.

\---

She cooked noodles when it had darkened outside, keeping the kitchenette lit by some candles she found conveniently hidden in a cupboard. She had collected quite the assortment of spices on her adventurous jaunts and Draco was rather pleased to find the ramen-styled noodles weren’t entirely as horrible as they looked.

Teddy lapped his up wholeheartedly while Draco had taken his and his parents’ share upstairs to eat with then. Hermione wondered again what exactly he did up there when he ate food. Where they just huddled around in a dark and dingy room eating their pasta in silence, or were they talking? And if so, what about? Did they know she was downstairs or did they assume Draco had just become a wiz with Muggle technology unexpectedly? It was all so strange and bizarre to think about.

When Draco had returned with his dishes, she had made him sit next to the fire with her and initiated a stock-take. He reluctantly agreed and they went through every item on the counter, identifying what they had plenty of, what they were low on and what they were missing but should try to acquire. Teddy fell asleep on the couch listening to the droan of list making and systematising.

It was such a Hermione thing to do, to go through everything, make a list and try to bring organisation to the chaos. In school he would have given her shit for acting so bossy and domineering, but so far her attitude seemed to be bettering his life and he found it difficult to muster the familiar resentment he had historically felt toward her.

Hermione noticed the ease in which he was complying, and found herself once again captivated by how weird and dream-like the situation was. She kept waiting for him to revert to his usual snarky self, yell at her, kick her out of the safehouse.

“Draco,” She began, looking up from the scrap of paper she had been writing on. She knew she was tempting fate with her following sentence. “Are your parents okay? I mean physically, are they alright?”

She wasn’t sure what kind of response to expect, but she wasn’t surprised when Draco leaned back on his palms, staring up at the ceiling above them and pursed his lips.  
“Physically? They’re dandy.” He scoffed and then looked back to Hermione, brows low. “Why’re you asking, Granger? You never cared for any of my family and we certainly never cared for you. Why start now?”

“Peace of mind.” She shrugged and looked sideways to where Teddy lay, his gentle puffs silenced by the crackling fire. “I would feel better knowing they are physically well.”

“Well then, you can rest your mind and butt out of my family’s affairs.” He stated severely and Hermione thought she must have struck a nerve, but she nodded calmly and then went back to their list.

After what felt like another hour had passed, Hermione frowned and looked back up to Teddy. Draco had just eluded to a lookout point that was located not too far away, but was rather dangerous to approach. The building sat nestled in a large clearing of overgrown grass but the trek across the clearing lacked cover. She would have dismissed it, if not for the fact it was a lookout point and probably contained a good amount of vital supplies that they needed.

“We would have to go at night.” Draco frowned, weighing up their options and watching Hermione’s reaction. “It’s just too risky in the day without any protection. All it would take would be one Death Eater to show up and all hell would break loose.”

Hermione agreed with his reasoning, but knew that meant Teddy wouldn’t be able to come.  
“We would have to leave him here.” She sighed and worried her bottom lip. Teddy had never been separated from her for long and she wasn’t sure how he would endure a night alone (with his own hermit Aunt on the floor above him, no less).

After a long contemplation, they decided it was ultimately necessary.

\---

Snatchers. Four of them. Hermione hadn’t seen a Snatcher in a while, and so she had assumed there were none patrolling this town. Her heart sunk as she realised that was no longer the case. The four men walked together like a pack of dogs, hunting for prey on the outskirts.

Hermione shifted painfully yet silently, her legs cramping up from being cold and motionless for so long. She and Draco had been walking through the long overgrown grass track near the lake away from the lookout point where they had found ample supplies – toiletries, rations and Muggle medical provisions. On their way back, they had been forced to duck and cover in the tall snowy grass as the Snatchers had made their sudden appearance, and they hadn’t yet left.

They kept walking back and forth across the path, sniffing the air and peering into the darkening distance.

“They can smell us.” Hermione whispered with a grimace, thinking back to when she had been foraging with Harry and Ron. Back then, a Snatcher had caught a whiff of her perfume as he had stalked by, but her protective shields had fortunately been very sturdy. She had no idea what they were smelling now though and she hadn’t been given the chance to even start a _protego_.

“We have to back up.” Draco spoke with a familiar angry snarl as he whipped his head around to where they had come from. Still crouched, he begun to move his way back through the long grass. Hermione watched apprehensively. The grass didn’t offer much cover and any slight movement was telling.

She was about to move herself when she heard one of the Snatchers yell from the distance.

  
“What’s that over there?!”

She needn’t look back over her shoulder to see they had started advancing rapidly, having caught sight of the grass moving around them. She heard Draco cursing under his breath ahead of her before standing upright and breaking into a sprint.

“Stay down!” She urged, gripping her wand tightly before groaning and following suit.

“Get ‘em!” One of the Snatchers called and she heard a series of unannounced hexes whizzing past and lighting up the dark ground.  
They were almost back to the look-out point but beyond that there was nothing but the black, empty lake sprawling until it met the night sky.

“ _Impedimenta_!” She heard Draco yelling as he looked back, aiming his wand imprecisely to where he assumed the Snatchers were. Hermione’s automatic reflex forced her to tense up and trip slightly.  
Nightfall was completely upon them, and everything was cast in heavy black shadow. Nothing was easy to make out, not even the ground in front of them.

They made it to the water’s edge, the Snatchers hot on their trail. Draco darted up a jetty, urging himself not to slip on its frozen surface as he aimed his wand behind. Hermione followed out of panic and then kicked herself for doing so. There was no way off the jetty and the Snatchers had them cornered.

“What the fuck do we do?!” Draco was pressing her for ideas and Hermione was drawing nothing but blanks, eyes darting everywhere as more hexes and spells whizzed by, barely missing them.  
She couldn’t think of anything – there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Why had she followed him in such a blind panic?

“One of ‘em’s a girl!” An advancing Snatcher yelled out in an overly eager way that made Hermione’s skin crawl. She backed up further until the heel of her boot met the edge of the jetty.

“Take a breath.” She heard Draco instruct, and she gave a squeak of protest as he grabbed her around the waist and threw himself backwards. She did as he said, sucking in a surprised yelp as she freefell with him back into the inky depths of the lake.

She was instantly hit in the back by a cold wall of icy water. Her chest constricted of its own accord in response to the sudden biting cold against her skin and she opened her eyes but couldn’t see anything. She felt bubbles tickling her face but couldn’t make anything out around her. Nothingness enveloped her. Pure black nothingness. She felt something akin to thousands of needles stabbing her all over, chilling her right to the bone. The water was cold to the point of painful.

Draco’s arm left her waist and she grabbed into the black nothingness to reclaim him but instead only seized slimy vines and plants, hopelessly. He was gone and suddenly she was alone in the dark frigid cold with the Snatchers overhead. With no sense of direction, she wasn’t sure what way was up or down. What way should she swim to take a breath? How long had she been under?

Suddenly her lungs were burning and there was a painful bursting in her chest, demanding she take a breath, open her mouth and suck in air, water, anything.

A hand grabbed her jacket collar and yanked her upward and she broke through the river surface, gulping in a breath of air gargled with water. For a startling moment, she was sure a Snatcher had apprehended her, and she sputtered and thrashed senselessly against her captor, stilling only when she heard Draco telling her to stop and to be quiet. He held her against the end of the jetty, keeping her afloat as he peered around for the Snatchers. They were gone.

Hermione tried treading water but couldn’t feel her legs, they were so numb and detached, and her coat felt like a lead weight pulling her under. She felt so heavy, weighed down by her clothes and shoes. Slowly they managed to make their way around the jetty and dragged themselves up onto the river bed. Hermione knew they were in trouble when the freezing lagoon they had emerged from felt warmer than the air around them.

Hypothermia, her dad had always told her, came in three waves. In its mildest form, people were still able to walk and talk, but as it progressed they lost motor coordination and eventually curled up into a hibernation-like state until, inevitably, suffering from cardiac arrest. Hermione had gone through her first ten years of life believing she would die to hypothermia – or quicksand, which also seemed to be a very prominent killer if Muggle action movies were to be believed.  
But thanks to her father’s insistence of imparting all kinds of useless medical knowledge down to his daughter, she knew that both her and Draco were in the early stages of said affliction.

“We need to move.” She grunted, surprised by the stiffness of her jaw as she spoke. They needed to keep moving, they needed to get home as soon as they possibly could.

Draco had partially collapsed in front of her, shaking violently in the moonlight as he struggled to find his footing. She reached numbly for her wand and tried to cast a warming charm. It failed twice before she got the movement right, and it only offered them both minimal heat. She felt incredibly drained and knew she had to conserve her strength.

They had only staggered a short distance through the overgrown grass when Draco fell again, this time emitting a low groaning noise as he tried and failed to stand back up.  
Hermione grabbed his arm, desperately pulling at it to get him back on his feet, but her own hands were so numb it felt like she had wrapped them in cotton wool, and she couldn’t get a good grasp on him at all.

“T-t-to fricken c-cold…” He ground out, teeth clenched together to stop them from chattering as he shivered aggressively. It occurred to Hermione that she had never seen him look so pitiable and helpless before. My, the times had certainly changed.

“There’s n-no way we can make it back to the safehouse in t-this manner.” Hermione admitted, wiping dripping tendrils of hair from her face. They would surely freeze to death before they ever got close. Hermione looked off in the distance and over to the right where the lookout still stood. At least that would offer them some form of shelter.

“G-gettup.” She demanded desperately, her own words slurring together as she pulled at his arm again. With no small amount of effort, she somehow managed to drag him back up and linked her sopping arm with his, pulling him toward the lookout post. He fumbled clumsily next to her as she hurried toward the small white building and flung open the door, pushing him inside.

There wasn’t much inside and most of the useful items they had already looted. Draco collapsed again against the floor, and Hermione held her wand out and muttered a shivery lumos to look around. It was just as they had left it – bare and unhelpful.

“W-why is it always w-winter here?” She heard Draco snap, heard him peeling off his drenched coat.  
Shaking, her eyes instantly took in the large curtained windows and she stumbled over to them, grasped their coverings and with all the might she could summon she ripped them from their rails where they shielded the window awnings. They weren’t blankets but they would have to do.

“T-take of y-your clothes.” She ordered as she dragged the curtains back to where Draco had slumped to the floor, shivering violently in a forming pool of river water. He looked at her venomously as if she had abruptly been cursed with a second head.

“Just d-do it.” She pleaded, huffing into her hands in a desperate attempt to restore some feeling in them. She forced them to cooperate and removed her coat and kicked off her shoes.  
She then peeled her shirt away from her skin and over her head, leaving her in only a bra and sopping wet jeans. She felt exposed and frozen and her breath caught in front of her, vapour betraying the chilly air that nipped at her exposed, damp skin.

He stared at her angrily, nostrils flaring, but didn’t say anything. His fringe, now damp, leaked river water into his eyes where it hung over his face. He looked like a drowned rat, and probably felt like one too.

Preserve energy, her mind urged her. Keep warm. Save body heat. Now is not the time to get flustered in front of Draco bloody Malfoy.

“We need t-to k-keep our body temperatures up. You n-need to remove t-the damp clothes. They will kill you.”

To his credit, Draco did try earnestly to make a start on the buttons of his shirt at the mention of death, but his hands were shaking too much to be of use.  
“C-c-cant.” He bit out, shuddering. “T-to c-cold.”  
Hermione willed her own hands to obey again and leaned closer to him, forcing his shirt buttons through their loops with more effort than would have usually been necessary. Her hands were shaking, and she leaned forward to huff warm breath on them as she undid his top and pushed it open.

“F-f-fuck” She heard him mutter and she grimaced inwardly at the realisation she had been giving him more than an eyeful of cleavage. She promptly pulled away, turned and began on the fly of her jeans. Did he really not realise how serious this was? That it was either this or freezing to death?

“Body h-heat.” She stuttered angrily, forcing her damp jeans down over her hips. “N-need to remove the w-wet s-stuff t-t-to get warm. Be serious.” She looked over to him and indicated for him to do the same. He met her with an unpleasant expression before shuddering it away as he removed his wet shirt from around his shoulders.

He shook violently and huffed into his own hands, rubbing them together to try and create friction. Gingerly he lowered them to his fly and attempted to undo it but found he was shaking so much that he couldn’t even grasp the zipper. Instead, he groaned a string of curses and tucked his hands into his armpits, teeth chattering of their own accord. What a way to go out.

“You’re s-so pathetic.” Hermione announced. She already had her jeans off, and had grabbed a curtain, wrapping it around her shoulders. “I-I’ll do it, then, lest you freeze t-to death.” Her bossy tone had returned and she leaned back in to unzip his pants.

“F-f-fuck off.” He stuttered, swotting numbly at her hands as he protested her actions. She successfully undid his fly after a couple seconds and hooked her fingers into the band of his pants, pulling the sodden fabric down much to his disagreement. Hermione had become very clinical in her actions and he let out an unexpected, un-Malfoy whimper, pushing her away.  
She sat back and wrapped herself more firmly in the curtain with an exasperated look, watching Draco struggle to get the remainder of his saturated pants off. He groaned again in defeat and doubled over, his body wracked with violent convulsions.

“You arrogant b-bastard.” She declared and leaned forward on her knees to drag him up into a tight, hopefully warming, embrace. She felt him try and go rigid against her but with his bare chest against hers, he shivered uncontrollably and wrapped his arms around her back tightly out of instinct. He held her in a vice-like grip, shivering steadily and in time with her.

It was a bizarre hug.

“Ohmygodsofuckingwarm.” She heard him slur and shudder into the nape of her neck, felt his hands pawing at her back, trying to pull her closer to steal her heat. She locked her curtained arms around his larger frame as best she could, trying to share what little warmth she had while simultaneously syphoning his.

“W-why do you make things s-so hard?” Hermione asked over his shoulder but he didn’t respond. After a moment had passed she realised why.

Or rather she felt why.

He very well could have asked her that same question regarding a certain something now standing to attention between them, pushing incessantly against her naval. Smart as she was, it took even her a moment to realise what it was, why it was happening and what was going on.

Oh dear God…

It was purely natural, she quickly rationalised inside her head. The clinical nature of her mind speedily took over and forced her to see reason. It was normal. They were pressed up against each other and they were nearly naked. It was a completely standard reaction, entirely typical. Nothing strange there. He wasn’t even aroused. Maybe it was just a consequence of major temperature change on the human anatomy. Yes, that was definitely it. That sounded entirely plausible, like it had come right out of a textbook.

But it was still awkward as all hell, and Draco didn’t seem to be letting go. Maybe he was ashamed, she justified. She herself would have been mortified in the same situation, too embarrassed to withdraw and face the inevitable disgrace given the circumstances. Maybe it would help if she pretended nothing had happened, that nothing was happening.

“Malfoy, I need to—” She reached out a hand for the other curtain with the intention of offering it to him, giving him a means to extract himself with a shred of dignity still intact, but he refused to let her go, holding her tightly in place against him. She made to pull away, but he held steadfast, fleetingly rapt with shivers.

His breath was shallow and warm against her ear, tickling and prickling her skin. What in the world was happening? Why wasn’t he letting go? Wasn’t he ashamed of his reaction?

Nothing to be ashamed off, Hermione’s quiet and oppressed wicked inner self delighted, but she frowned all the same.


	5. The Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer, blah, blah, blah. Also a warning for the sex scene at the end of this chapter.

It had finally happened, Draco thought to himself as he squeezed Hermione Granger taut against his bare front.

He had snapped. Gone the way of his aunt.

That was the only vindication he could gather to justify the way he forced the Mudblood against his body, revelled in the way she fitted perfectly against his frozen flesh. It was beyond mad.

He should have been hating it, abhorring the way her skin felt like fire against his own, heated and overly too intense in his frozen state. He should have pushed her away, been disgusted by her willingness to embrace him, should have dodged her arms like the plague. Even if it meant resigning himself to curling up on the floor and succumbing to hypothermia. Anything would have made more sense than what he was doing, squeezing her like he had any right to, like he hadn’t been a right prat to her for her entire childhood - like he had been one of her friends.

But dear Merlin, she was warm, soft, delicate, supple, pressed up against him and shivering. It was sensory overload, combined with the full body pins and needles accompanying his returning temperature from their icy plunge. It felt like someone had set a fire ablaze under him and the flames licked higher and higher until they roared pleasurably in his abdomen. All the sensation went straight to his head and then flooded down deep somewhere behind his bellybutton.

“W-why do you make things s-so hard?”

She asked, and there it was - that familiar enjoyable thrum that he attended to on occasion. A stirring heat that he knew she could feel. How could she not? She was pressed flush against him, right up against his pronounced erection which pushed ardently into her abdomen.  
But she didn’t say anything, didn’t do anything. Perhaps she was in shock, too horrified to speak. He could believe that. She had always been bit of a prude in school.

He breathed in her scent, face nuzzled into the curve of her warm neck, wet hair tickling his face. He could hear her thinking, her mind going a mile a minute. He almost laughed at the absurdity of it all, but shivered instead. He really had lost it.

“Malfoy, I need to—”

She tried to pull away but his arms were locked tightly in place and he was unwilling to let go. To lose the gratifying sensation of her body was akin to despair. Maybe she thought it was embarrassing and, truth be told, she wasn’t wrong. It was more humiliating than anything had been recently, but discomfiture was not something Draco dwelt on anymore. Since defaulting to the losing side of the war, he had lost everything except for his parents, and any form of embarrassment paled in comparison to that. There was only a certain amount of shit that life could throw before one just stopped caring and Draco had been pushed far past the point of giving a damn.

“Malfoy,” She shook him from his thoughts, her voice only a small wisp of sound. “Please let go.”

He didn’t know why he did what he did. Perhaps it was the sound of her quiet plead making his head spin, or her quiet sultry voice threatening to engulf him. He withdrew from her just enough to see her face in the dim light. She looked more beguiling than she rightfully should have in the chilly night air, hair damp and flat, cheeks red, lips parted and emitting short steamy breaths that matched his own. He felt heavy lidded, entranced with her appearance as he drank her in. Maybe if he had known how damn appetising she was going to become he would have been nicer to her in school. Surely a Mudblood who excelled in putting his own Pureblood grades to shame couldn’t truly have been that bad? His parent’s convictions had to have been wrong on that account.

He watched her eyebrows knit together anxiously as he lowered his face to hers, slowly shut his eyes and shuddered as his nose brushed against her face. She didn’t pull away, and he took it as a sign to proceed. Cautiously he lowered his lips, ghosting a slight hint of a kiss across hers. Her mouth was warm and soft, inviting and tempting and oh so wrong but oh so right instantaneously. This was ludicrous!

But he wasn’t quite sure what had happened next. One minute she was letting him indulge and the next she had reeled back out of his hold. He felt a heated burn creeping across his cheek, saw her rub her hands together in pain. She was frowning, wrapping the curtain around herself and standing up.

She had slapped him. He felt the fresh welting of her hand print burn even in the cold air. Well, he supposed he deserved that. He would have slapped himself too if in her shoes. It’s not often one wants to shack up with the person who tormented them throughout their school years, who bullied them and their friends relentlessly for so long.

She thrust the spare curtain at him and he eagerly wrapped himself in it, hunkering down and not daring to engage her for the rest of the night.

The discomfort in the air was palpable.

\---

It wasn’t until twilight broke that she said anything. And what she said wasn’t quite what he had expected.

“Why did you change sides?” She questioned him while pulling her wet top back over her head and making a face. Now that the sun was rising and would soon be at their backs, they would be able to make the journey home without curling over and dying along the way, despite their wet attire.

“Sides?” Draco asked, pulling his own soggy top over his head. It was a horrible feeling. He had only just warmed up and now he was cooling down yet again. “You mean, why did we stop following You-know-who?”

Hermione glared at him, shivering. She clutched her wand tightly in one cold hand at her side and nodded.

Was she just going to ignore everything that had just happened between them?  
Okay, he could play along with that.

“Mother, mostly.” He replied coolly, watching her from the corner of his eyes as he busied himself with the rest of his clothes. “She wanted a guarantee that couldn’t be given.”

“That’s not a very good reason to change sides.” Hermione shot at him with a stern look. He wondered what she was trying to uncover with her line of questioning. He hated explaining himself.

“It’s not as easy as just changing sides, Granger. It isn’t black and white.” He shrugged his damp jacket back on and made for the door, looking back as she puffed out a frustrated sigh.

“Yes, it is! There’s the good side and there’s the bad side and you were on the bad side for a very long time.”

She had a point, he realised. Their switch was quite the about-face and not expected of him or his family at all. Even the other Death Eaters hadn’t expected their sudden departure from the ranks. But she was still completely naive to his family’s reasons for defecting. Having been hailed as Gryffindor’s Princess for most of her life, he doubted she would ever see reason.

“Good side, bad side. You judge far too easily, Granger.” He shook his head and waited for her by the door “Haven’t your Muggle wars taught you anything?”

She grumbled and pushed past him to the lightening exterior.

It was a quiet trek back to Draco’s safehouse. Hermione kept her mouth closed tightly the entire way and was thankful Draco did the same. His weird display of affection had put her on edge, questioning everything he was doing and had done. If you could call that affection? She didn’t really know what the hell he was trying to do back there, but she was thankful he didn’t bring it up.

She kept her mind on Teddy, hoping he was okay, that the fire was still going, that everyone was safe.

\---

They had been safe, of course. The wards were still firmly in place and Teddy was still fast asleep when they barged through the rickety front door and rushed to the fireside, waking him up in the process.

After warming themselves and separating to fetch fresh, dry clothes, the day played out very dully. Neither witch nor wizard talked to one another. Draco barely came down stairs, except to shuck what he had deposited into his pockets from the lookout point onto the counter top with their other collection of supplies.

Later in the evening Draco found himself watching her from the bottom step of the staircase as she busied herself in the kitchen. There was something about the way she had familiarised herself with where everything was that irked him. Earlier he had appreciated her cooking, thought handy her ability to operate the stove-top with her bizarre muggle technology. Now he was fast becoming frustrated with her. This was his little hide-away hole, his little shack, not hers. It was as if she had invaded his home - his life - and suddenly he was losing control, could feel his jurisdiction slipping away. But it was his parents tucked away upstairs, and it was his responsibility to look after them.

He chewed his thumb as he watched her from the shadows, a bad habit he had picked up. She had her back to him, mixing something in a bowl, completely vulnerable and unaware. Her hair was pulled to one side, a shoulder bare as he watched her working. His light eyes flickered over to where Teddy lay dozing on the couch next to the fire, also completely oblivious. Silently he moved, approaching. She was still concentrating on the bowl in front of her as he loomed over her shoulder mere inches away, mixing some strange concoction that looked like an alarmingly thick glue. At this proximity he could smell her, feel her body heat radiating off her back, hear her sigh and see her shoulders slump as she began to turn toward him.

“I thought you went to bed.” Hermione was eyeing him with disdain as he stood motionless, cold grey eyes staring into her honey hued ones. Evidently, she wasn’t as unaware of his presence as he thought and, lost for words, he just stared down at her without saying anything. He didn’t think he had ever been quite this close to her before and his eyes danced all over her face before he could stop them. Had she always had those freckles? A cute little button nose? Were her lips always this full and pink?

Dear Merlin, was this what he had been missing out on all those years he thought he hated her? Had he hated her? Really? Wrapped up in his Pureblood indoctrination, he’d been utterly oblivious to her charm. No wonder four-eyes and the Weaselbee hung around her so much.

Draco willed himself to back away and retreat, but after four years of being pent up with nobody but his unwell parents for company, his body felt bound to snap if he didn’t relieve some tension - in some form or another. It was the lookout post all over again, he realised.

Hermione was striking him with a daring look, almost challenging him to make a move. She had a fierce expression on her face that he knew well from school, that one she gave him whenever he and his friends had been giving her a particularly hard time. He wanted to wipe it right off her face.

Instinctively he grabbed her cheeks between his large pale hands and quickly slanted his lips against hers forcefully, holding her tightly as if afraid she would fight back. She did, of course. It was in her nature. Her eyes widened and she gripped his wrists tightly, trying to shake her head to detach him. She didn’t know what he was planning to do, creeping up on her from behind, but it certainly wasn’t this. But then, perhaps she should have known better after that strange incidence that morning.

He was stronger than her, pushing her back up against the counter her abandoned bowl sat on. She let out a surprised gasp against his mouth as her back knocked against the sharp overhang and he took the opportunity to quickly shove his tongue past her lips, forcing her to accept it. She tasted sweet, weirdly enough, like she had just finished one of Teddy’s hardboiled candies. For some reason he fixated on her flavour, enjoying her unique tang.

Hermione fought him for what seemed like an age, hands scrabbling at his chest, trying to nip his lip to get him to stop. The wayward and usually quiet inner voice of hers flared to life and told her to stop reprimanding him, to cast her memory back to a time when this was what she daydreamed about.

Indeed, it felt like an age ago when she would let herself get flustered thinking about it, what her blond classmate’s lips felt like against her own adolescent ones. Jezz, she had been a hopeless romantic back in the day, when she wasn’t lost in a book. She had crushed so hard on anything blond, regardless of status - her school bully, her Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, the list went on.

She was intrigued to discover, even as he assaulted her mouth, that Draco's lips were almost as soft as her own. His mouth was also quite apt and his tongue was surprisingly felicitous. She didn’t kiss back though, too thoroughly confused by her own emotional state to act on any sudden feelings. But her hands had come to a stand still against his chest, no longer scrabbling to push him away but instead becoming neutral in the matter.

Draco realised he had made a mistake when he instead pushed her away and let her go again. He had kissed her this time, and without being reacquainted with Hermione's hand, but he didn’t near feel as satiated as he expected. If anything, he felt more pent-up than he did before, the taste of her simply wetting his appetite. He furrowed his brows and searched her face, hunting for any discernible clues she could offer. Gods, he was confused. He hated her. He had always hated her, and her duo of buffoons who followed her like they were attached at the hip. He hated her insufferable book smarts, the way she would sit in class with her stupid rat’s nest of hair, hand permanently raised, begging for a teacher’s approval.

Aggravating to say the least.

But right now he found her intoxicating. Her cheeks were red and flushed, lips swollen and parted as she breathed heavily, dark eyes imploring and bewildered as she watched his. She met him breath for breath, looking just as confused, agitated, aroused and lost as he did. He should of been slapping himself for being so bold, for daring to act on such abrupt urges. Especially with her.

“Draco, I…” She started and then trailed away, the sound of his first name feeling foreign and far-off as it left her lips. She looked back at him, his face pale and haunting in the dim light, like a ghost of his former self. Perhaps he had tricked her, spirited her, much like a ghost would. It would explain why she leaned back up on her tip-toes and pressed her lips firmly against his, giving him a chaste and simple kiss that lingered. A controlled connection.

Yes, he had definitely mesmerized her. Her body felt bewitched. Draco molded his willing lips back to hers, snaking his arms around her waist, fitting himself firmly against her. It was unreal; two former enemies bought together by chance, snogging in some rundown little hideout.

This was the first time she had ever kissed like this, with such heated passion behind it. It was ineffable, beyond words. His lips moved against hers seamlessly, although he was noticeably more experienced. He took the lead in their new encounter, one step ahead of her. She wondered if Draco could sense her lack of skill and, if he could, she hoped to the gods he didn’t care. That was the last thing she wanted him to lord over her. That she was a rubbish kisser.

He was breathing heavily, pressing her back into the counter with great passion, rough and arrogant as she had come to expect from him. Breaking away from her mouth, he trailed to the soft skin of her neck and planted subsequent coarse kisses as he went. As if by instinct she craned her neck to the side, offering him a better angle and shocked herself at how easy the action come. Her body was eager to feel his lips, providing a giddy rush at having such a supposed condescending, conceited jerk please her. It was both thrilling and frightening.

Gazing off to the side as she bared her neck, she saw Teddy stir near the fire and instantly bought her hands up, pushing against Draco's chest.

“Stop.” She murmured to him and indicated over to where Teddy was sleeping. Draco breathed out an unsatisfied grunt, following her line of sight. He was wound far too tightly to be stopped now. Like a rubber band he was near to breaking, filled with urgency in the heat of the moment.

He grabbed Hermione’s arm without offering an explanation and pulled her towards the staircase, dragging her all-too-willing body along behind him. He wondered if she knew where he was taking her, if she knew what he intended to do. Did she know? Did he even care?

They crept up the darkened stairs silently and as he reached the landing, he pulled out his wand. Turning to the first door he pointed and muttered a _colloportus_ before dragging Hermione with him to the second door opposite the bathroom - his room.

Once through the door, Hermione took in the dim surroundings anxiously. It was a small cold room. Neat though. Of course it was – it was his room. He had never struck her as a disorganized person. Apart from being in an incredible state of disrepair, much like the rest of the safehouse, it was surprisingly well-kept and orderly.

“What are you looking at?” Draco breathed against her from behind, closing the door shut and muttering a silencing charm. She could hear a smirk in his voice, felt a sense of urgency as he spoke. Creeping up behind her, he drew her hair to one side, nuzzling her exposed neck and ghosting his hands over the curve of her waist.

She jumped and spun, only inches from his face once again. His eyes were darker than usual, pupils blown wide as he stalked her slowly backwards until the backs of her knees hit his bed. She didn’t reply, instead entranced by how close he was, by how striking his pale features were in the moonlight filtering through his drawn curtains. He could challenge Eros with that face, she thought hungrily. Gods, what was wrong with her? But again, she reminded herself that at one point in time she had wanted to see him this close, to admire him at near proximity. She was indulging her adolescent self.

 _But she shouldn't be_ , her rationality interjected. She couldn't risk becoming distracted.

Draco had claimed her mouth again, and Hermione felt her resolve vanishing every time he swept his tongue against hers, every time he suckled her bottom lip. Her naughty inner voice had broken its bonds, running free in her mind without restrain. She groaned and it surprised Hermione more than at did Draco.

_What was she doing? What was she thinking?_

He released her lips and drew back, pulling his shirt over his head in a clean easy motion and dropping it to the ground. This time there was no chance of hypothermia playing as distraction and she took in his lithe, pale frame against the darkness. A true seeker’s build if ever she had seen one, toned although somewhat thin. Too thin.

 _What had he been eating, again?_ They should be focusing on more pressing matters.

  
His eyes met hers again, his filled with familiar arrogance, fringe hanging in his eyes, lips swollen and well-ravished. He looked the epitome of delicious.

He reached for her hand and drew her down onto his bed and into a position to straddle him before she even realised it, too lost in her warring thoughts. She delicately placed her hands on his chest, running her tongue across her bottom lip as she watched him hesitantly. He was smirking, she could see, and pulling at the hem of her top incessantly. She understood his movements, following his lead and only stopping when she felt the cold night air biting at her skin.

“Take it off.” He demanded in a raspy, fervor filled voice that made her instantly oblige. His voice directed to her in such a way seemed so alien and yet so recognisable. She pulled it up and over her curls, leaving her in only a plain bra. Feeling bare and exposed, she leaned back into him where he eagerly met her mouth with his, claiming her with forceful, demanding kisses.

She pulled away soon after to allow his mouth passage down her neck and décolletage, his teeth biting and soft lips soothing her heated skin. He was grinding himself underneath her, the same contact she had felt just the night before in that rather awkward predicament. But now it was all she could think about, wanted to think about. She found herself moving her hips against his naturally, craving the friction.

He pulled back from her again, leaning his upper torso back against the headboard of his bed lazilly.  
“Your pants.” He instructed her, hooking a thumb in and tugging at the waist band. She made no delay in removing them, and was slightly embarrassed about how eager she was to do it. Did she seem desperate? Was that a silly question, given her position?

She had never done any of this before, and her heart thrashed wildly in novel apprehension. This wasn’t exactly how she pictured her first time. In her youth she thought it would have been with Ron, after their victory in war, in some perfect candlelit setting right out of a Mills and Boon narrative. Then, after a year had passed with a baby Teddy to look after, she thought perhaps it was likely that a Snatcher might be the one to steal her innocence away. But instead of either likely scenario, it was apparently going to be with her childhood bully, while the battle still raged on.

It was unfathomable. Her friends would be ashamed, given she ever had the chance to see them again, if they were even still alive

Its Draco Malfoy! Her mind cried, attempting to thwart the desire inside from spilling over. A fucking Death Eater! The enemy! She should be running, retreating, removing distraction and focusing on surviving.

But it’s _Draco Malfoy!_ Her oppressed and usually well-restrained wicked side beamed happily as it run amuck. That gorgeous blond boy who you slapped back in third year and just again last night. Her heart thrummed happily.

She was acting like a needy slag, and somehow despite her lack of justification to proceed, her heart was domineering her actions.

Draco was moving beneath her again, grinding himself against her core urgently as he moved his arms around her back, fingering her bra clasp and undoing it. She let the straps slip over her shoulders and off of her arms, exposing herself to him bashfully. She had bared herself like this to no one.

Draco made a struggled groan of a noise, leaned forward and continued to pepper her exposed skin with kisses. He suckled both the swell of each breast and the underside, causing Hermione to near swoon at the foreign sensation. No one had ever touched her this way – even she hadn’t touched herself like this. When he latched his lips around a nipple her hands flew to his hair, a gasp escaping her lips before she could stop it. She was overcome by too many emotions at once. Pleasure was at the forefront, but a sense of power overcame her as she gazed down heavy-lidded and watched him suckling against her, her hands caressing the soft blond hair at the nape of his neck and she rolled her hips against his for good measure. He emitted a low and drawn out groan against her skin, raking his cold hands up and down her back as he continued to grind and suckle. He was acting like a randy school boy, and she was enjoying it tremendously, soaking up his attention like a dry sponge. She surprised herself by how much she was truly relishing it, how much his desperate need seemed to rub off onto her.

He pulled back from her nipple with a string of saliva following his greedy mouth, looking up at her like a half-starved demon. Her conscience chastised her, told her to get off and retreat, but she didn’t. One of his arms left her back and slid between them to undo the front of his slacks. She looked down, both nervous and engrossed, as he reached into his pants and his cock sprung free, just as ashen as the rest of his pale skin in the moonlit room. She wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it, considering this was the first one she had seen in the flesh. Anatomy books could only take her so far. She supposed she should be pleased to note that the high school rumours she had heard years back were in fact true, that Draco Malfoy _was_ rather well endowed.

He stroked himself once and then looked back up to her, his other hand coming up to hook her by the chin. For a terrifying second she thought he was about to guide her down towards his prominent erection, but instead he pulled her towards his mouth, reconnecting his lips with hers.

She melted into him, meeting each kiss with her own fierce passion and craving. She dully noticed both of his hands moving to her underwear but didn't feel him trying to pull them down. Instead he reached behind her and bunched the gusset to one side.

Holding himself in one hand and cradling her bum with the other, he broke away from her mouth and leaned in to nip her neck. She squirmed against his hold, eager to feel friction again- something, anything. He was teasing her, holding her at the brink and not letting her fall. She mustered a groan of impatience, a guttural noise that could only imply one thing.

Draco smirked against her skin, moved to the shell of her ear and whispered heatedly against her skin, “Fuck me, Granger.”

A shiver shot down her spine as he spoke, voice laced with the same adolescent snarky tone she had grown to hate, but her core and insides ached to be filled and plundered by him. Part of her felt dirty that she should want that, that she should want him of all people to do it. She supposed she had always found him attractive, and although it was poor justification, it was better than nothing. Despite his atrocious nature she had always found him fascinating, compelling. So attractive, yet so forbidden. And now so readily available beneath her.

Hermione felt him line himself up against her slick folds and inhale sharply through his nose at the sensation, waiting for her to impale herself down onto him. Gripping his headboard until her knuckles were white with tension, she bade his request and slowly sank herself down, feeling what up until this point had been a small and untouched orifice stretch painfully to accommodate him.

It was embarrassingly agonizing. She queried mentally if he could tell she was a virgin, that she had never experienced anything like this before and was counting on his direction. She assumed he must have been able to, surely.

He hissed, holding her arse tight enough to leave a mark, but continued to sooth and kiss the skin of her neck. Hermione whimpered painfully, which Draco misread as apparent pleasure and pulled her hips down, forcing himself in right to the hilt.

“Holy fuck,” He murmured against her skin and fought against a shudder, eyes squeezed close and a snarl set on his face as he waited for her to adjust. “How are you so tight?”

She took in a strangled breath and tried to allow herself to calm down, for her muscles to relax around him. She leaned back down to implore him for another kiss and found he angled his face up to hers automatically, as if waiting for her instinctively. Their tongues mingled together, and his hands came up to her hair, soothing and placating her. She enjoyed the way he was making her feel, igniting a spark that she otherwise didn’t know had existed within herself. He must have felt her relax because he rocked her forward with his hand and then pulled away from her mouth in concentration, willing himself not to come then and there. It was as if he had become an unskilled virgin again after so long without, every little movement and adjustment of her body pushing him dangerously close to the edge.

Using her knees as leverage, she rose herself up timidly and then sunk back down on him again, feeling a sharp stab of pain followed by an amusing dull twinge of pleasure. She did it again, and found the pain at the beginning lessened and the pleasure at the end begin to escalate. She could work with this peculiar sensation.

Draco leaned his head back as she moved, keeping an acute eye on her as she repeated her actions. His hands trailed down to her hips and guided her as she amateurishly rode him. After a short moment of this, he experimentally rolled her hips instead, pulling her pelvis against his in an agonizingly pleasing way that made them both moan in abandon. They started a steady pace, and Hermione was enthralled to find they seemed to fall into it very naturally, as if made for this one and only task.

Hermione dropped her head back, eyes closed, whimpers of pleasure escaping her as she let her hands rest on his broad shoulders, all thoughts of prior pain lost to the sensation of bliss. Draco watched, utterly fascinated as her breasts bounced rhythmically every time he thrust upward, how her eyebrows knitted together as if she were trying very hard to stay together, although he was very intent on helping her come apart.

And soon she was moaning, vulgarities that her mouth otherwise wouldn’t form. Draco was appreciative of the _muffliato_ he had cast. He hadn't pinned her as a noise maker in bed.

Something about hearing Hermione Granger, Harry's Golden Girl, swear like a sailor really set him off. Without warning he rolled her across the bed, pinning her down as she protested with a squeal and then continued his assault on top.

It was relentless this way, Hermione quickly understood. Draco held all the control, rendering her a mere passenger along for their ride. She could do nothing, too lost in the splendor of passion to think coherently, and so clung to him, arms tightly around his neck and legs flailing somewhat uselessly like a novice as he claimed her as would a hungry animal. He was a creature of pure unbidden craving. Heavy panting, the sound of wet flesh against flesh, the feeling of his weight on top of her, bearing down on her. She raked her hands through his hair, pulling roughly as she felt her world slip away and her mind forget everything. There was a pulling in her core, a coil that Draco was wounding tighter and tighter within her. Timidly, she lifted her head and looked down past her exposed chest and naval to where Draco intimately joined her. She didn’t know if it was the question he grunted as she looked down, or the purely erotic scene that she witnessed her own body taking part in, but either way the coil within her snapped, rather shockingly.

“Like what you see?”

She came violently, biting down when he kissed her to muffle a scream. He himself sucked in a ragged breath, feeling her muscles convulse around him, milking him for his seed. Mere thrusts later he followed suit, groaning against her neck as he faulted irrhythmically out of time, spilling himself deep within her in complete and utter fulfillment.


	6. Post-coitus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the feedback guys! It’s all very appreciated! Sorry if this chapter is a bit lacking. It’s just a bit of filler, but I wanted to get into Hermione’s head a little more. Really put myself in her shoes and think about what she would realistically do. Also, disclaimer!

It wasn’t right.

It was so far from right, in fact, that it wasn’t even fathomable.

It wasn’t meant to happen - nothing like this was meant to happen. It was an innocent mistake, Hermione fibbed to herself as she came down from her sensual high. All too quickly, too. Where was that post-coitus bliss she had read about?

Draco was still inside her, around her, above her, entangled with her and unreadable in the dim light. He would never let her live this down, she was sure of it. Gryffindor’s princess had given herself willingly to the self-proclaimed prince of Slytherin. Her mind felt murky, displeased and confused at the easy forfeit of her inhibitions.

And she really had given them up a little too enthusiastically. She was just too eager and too lost in the moment to see reason, to find logic. There was no logic to what they had just done, certainly no aim or goal she was pursuing by letting him take her so crudely. But now…now she was just plain surprised at herself.

Not so much with him, though. She wasn’t surprised in the way he acted, the way he had cornered her like snake with its prey. After feeling the way his body had betrayed him at the lookout point, it would have been weird if he hadn’t tried something with her. But she was stunned she had reciprocated the idea.

She winced as Draco pulled out and rolled himself to the side unceremoniously, breath still ragged.

What in Godrick’s name had she really just done? Had _they_ just done? The cogs in her brain were jamming up, thick confusion settling in. Was she angry? Relived? Happy? Horrified? Why did it feel so surreal? Her body felt tenderised and overly sensitive, uncomfortable, sore. How had she let that happen? One minute she was trying her best to make dough by candle light and the next… How had they ended up upstairs, in his bed? The slickness between her legs was proof enough that the deed had ultimately been done, but she wasn’t sure why – or how it had come about. Only that it had. Her memory was unfocused, certain parts of their prior interaction downstairs seeping through her mind fog.

A kiss. A proper kiss. A kiss she hadn’t realised she had been wanting. But had she really wanted it? Was this what it was like to be starved of companionship for years? Was this what it did to people? Turned them into harlots at the first sight of a potential mate?

The room fell silent, except for Draco’s quieting pants and the inner sound of Hermione’s racing turmoil. She kept her eyes fixed on the ceiling above her, unwilling to look over at him – the boy she just fucked, the guy she just slept with, her… _lover_.

She grimaced at the last title and slid a hand over her face wearily. She supposed Draco was also doing the same. Staring at nothing, anything, anywhere but her. It would have been an awkward moment if not for the fact it was downright insane. She kept expecting to wake up at any moment.

Hermione desperately wanted to get dressed, excuse herself, leave. Grab Teddy and run away. Hide. She felt naked, too exposed even in the shadows of the night, clad in damp knickers and a layer of sweat. But she didn’t move, glued to the spot on his mattress where she lay, and he didn’t move either.

Well, sex was indeed a thrill ride of emotions, but so far none of the ones she expected. She was anxious, ready to bolt out the door if he so much as looked at her funny. It was so unlike her, and that in itself was appalling. She was usually so brave, so ready to face a challenge! She fumed at her pathetic spinelessness but at the same time wasn’t happy to accept that she and her former school bully had indeed just ‘boinked’, as Ginny would have said.

Why was this all so confusing and convoluted?

Draco scoffed loudly through the silence as if reading her thoughts. It captured Hermione’s attention and she turned her head toward him.

“Figures.” He begun, running a hand through his ice blond fringe where it clung to his forehead, irritably. “I finally get my first decent shag in years and it’s with one third of the Golden Trio.”

Hermione had a snarky rebuke ready on the tip of her tongue, but stalled in delivery. The Golden Trio. Harry and Ron. Of course, he had to bring them up at such an appalling time. They were the last people she wanted to associate this incident with.

Distraction. That is what this was. Harry and Ron would not approve.

“Why are you the way you are?” She sighed into her palm as she ran it slowly down her face. She felt jaded in his company.

Draco was considering his reply when a loud boom from through the far wall caused Hermione to bolt upright, gasp and grab at the dressings of Draco’s bed to cover her modesty. It was followed by a series of smaller bangs and then something crashing to the ground, muffled by the thickness of the wall.

She felt the bed shifting, Draco moving to sit upright next to her. She heard him muttering something under his breath, a chain of swears, before swinging his legs around to the side and fetching his own clothes in one smooth motion.

His parents were awake, she guessed.

“Fucking ingrates…fuck.” Hermione cast a side glance at him as he zipped and buttoned his pants in the moonlight and turned his attention to her. “Sorry.”

She didn’t reply, near terrified at what was happening through the wall. The commotion wasn’t ending.

“I’ll be back soon.” He murmured to her and walked briskly toward the door, opening it and then shutting it firmly behind himself, leaving her in dark silence.

As soon as she heard the door click closed behind him she smartly fetched her clothes and threw them on, chastising herself the entire time. What in the hell was she thinking? She grabbed her wand from her pocket to _scourgify_ herself, the unpleasant stickiness between her legs lingering uncomfortably.

She felt disgusting, in dire need of a wash. But she wasn’t sure if it would really help.

Well, that was the end of another chapter of her life, she thought to herself. Virginity gone. Childhood’s end. Although, truthfully, her childhood had really ended years before. Wars made children grow up, whether they wanted to or not. It wasn’t picky, it killed them all the same.

Poor Draco, Hermione thought as she sat back down on the end of his bed, solemnly. The amount of sympathy she felt for him was outright astonishing, but she wasn’t sure if it was genuine compassion or because she had just mounted him like thestral mere moments before.

It was probably the later, she reckoned.

Even now as she heard a smash of porcelain and him shouting something through the wall, her heart clenched uncomfortably. The sudden surge of unbridled empathy she felt was overwhelming. It had to be from coupling, she reasoned. A weird side effect of doing it with someone - you apparently ended up emotionally attached. Ginny had warned her about this. Why else would she feel so much pity for such a horrible person? And Draco was still quite a horrible, disagreeable person, she reminded herself.

Horrible, yes. But another unnamed emotion also stirred when she thought about him, and his condition. Something about the way he had been tossed asunder with a complete lack of survival skills made Hermione feel guilt-ridden. But the fact he had hardened and resigned himself to a life of barely struggling before they crossed paths, did what he had and could to survive, made Hermione feel something akin to embarrassment at her own predicament. She had no idea why.

She moved her attention from the wall to the door and glared at it, as if staring down an adversary. She wouldn’t run. She would stay, no matter how much her legs itched to move. She would stay put.

Surely.

\---

“Lucius, please.” The small pallid woman begged quietly as her husband writhed against his binds where he lay. She sat mere inches away from his bedside, sharp eyebrows upturned as she watched him in the dim candle light. He wasn’t well. He needed help. He needed her.

She tentatively placed a small hand across his damp forehead, studying her beloved and once formidable companion. Oh, how times had changed. She would never forgive her sister – never. Not after what she had done. That wicked tattling witch and her horrible, unforgiving master. She could hardly believe they sprung from the same loins, considering their opposing views towards justice and fairness.

And the Dark Lord. Well, what was there really to be said? Rumours spread quickly, especially about defectors – her sister made sure of that. And of course, Lucius had stood between the Dark Lord and his family, taking the brunt of Voldemort’s wrath.

“My poor darling.” She whispered to him, narrowly dodging his hand which had almost struck her, having slipped free of its bonds. She gasped and stood sharply, trying to wrangle his arm back down, but she was small and quite powerless in this pursuit. He had picked up a large book on the nightstand next to his bed and hurled it clean across the room with ease, eyes wild with a snarl as he looked around for more items to fling.

“Please, dear, please..” She begged of him as she attempted to sooth him back into a calm state, but it was ineffective. When he was riled up, it was often quite hard to calm him back down. Sometimes only her son could manage him when he got into such a fit, something about Lucius seeing himself reflected in his only child, a spitting image of his youth, seemed to comfort him. Perhaps it gave him hope.

Narcissa hoped it gave him something, hoped he still felt anything at all.

Voldemort’s powerful legilimency had all but destroyed her husband’s psychological state, leaving him lost inside his own head, madder than most where in Azkaban.

Her son chose an opportune moment to walk in, dodging a plate that smashed to pieces when it collided with the wall next to him.

“Fuck’s sake!” Draco cringed as he watched porcelain fly apart, hurrying around to where he stood opposite his mother in order to restrain his father. Even with the two of them it was no easy feat. Lucius was lithe and far too nimble for someone in his condition. Years of bed rest hadn’t much changed him.

“Again, Mother?” He hissed out as he held his father still, fixing her with an accusing look. “What did you say to him this time?”

Narcissa looked away, busying herself by retying the strips of cloth that held her husband’s wrists down. She looked like she was on the edge of tears, but then again, she always looked like that. She was a solemn, waif of a woman – thin but in an elegantly delicate way. Even in war she still looked as graceful and regal as ever, except her expensive dresses and jewellery had been replaced with puffer jackets and parkers – whatever would keep her warmest.

“Father, stay still!” Draco bellowed as Lucius writhed and howled beneath him. He dared not wonder what Hermione was hearing through the wall in the next room.

“Please, Draco, just cast a spell.” His mother begged as she backed away, distraught at the noises her husband was making. “Just a little one, to help him sleep.”

“I can’t.” Draco grunted. “You know I can’t expend anything unnecessarily.”

“Do you not deem this necessary?” His mother spat in distress, voice pitching high. “Please, just let him rest, Draco!”

Draco shook his head, looking down at his father who was slowly calming now that his wrists were once again secured, his body placating against the mattress. Draco noted his pale eyes darted everywhere around the room, roaming every surface he could make out in the flickering candle light. He really did look lost, mad. Crazy.

“He always wears himself out in time.” Draco’s reply felt hollow, even to himself. He would love nothing more than to help his father, if not just to see the peace it would bring his mother. But he couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t. If only his parents hadn’t both been relieved of their wands years before, none of this might have been happening.

Narcissa looked bitter, resuming her seated position near her husband’s side with her nose in the air.  
“How is your… _friend_?” She asked, not taking her eyes from where Lucius lay once again.

“Fine.” Draco replied just as tartly. He had become good at vocal sparring matches with his mother.

“Sometimes I hear her talking to herself in the middle of the night. The sound carries through the floor boards” His mother sniffed. “Are you sure she’s fine? The last thing we need is another loon in this pack of jokers.”

Draco paused. He hadn’t told his mother about Teddy. Since the child couldn’t make a peep, it seemed easier to hide the fact there was a small boy downstairs. He didn’t want to think about what his mother would do if she found out a child was in the house. A break down would probably be in order, knowing her fragile state. She had barely kept it together when he told her Hermione was sharing their lodging.

Except, he hadn’t told her it was Hermione. He couldn’t bring himself to tell his mother a Mudblood was right there under their roof, cooking their food and using their bathroom, contaminating their living space with her presence. Infecting her own son both mentally and now physically. No, that would push his mother right into oblivion. He might as well have _crucio-ed_ her for the pain it would cause. She was still very enthusiastic about Pureblood superiority, despite their current state of affairs.

“She’s an asset.” Draco stated plainly. “More hands to do things, and all that. She’s an advantage to us.”

Narcissa looked over to him as if she wasn’t quite convinced. “She won’t be a liability?”

Draco shook his head, and then perked up a little. “You enjoyed her cooking, Mother?”

Narcissa didn’t reply and Draco didn’t push. She still didn’t look quite sure, but he knew his mother could always be bribed with food, despite her physique. She still did enjoy the finer things, no matter what they may be or where they came from.

When Draco came back to his room after coercing his father to rest, he found Hermione was gone.


	7. Out Of Sight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N : Just a small filler chapie, sorry it’s so late. School has been very demanding. The next one will be more exciting, I promise. Also thanks for the comments! I love feedback!

The next day was quiet. And so was the following day. And the day after that.

In the instant Hermione had fled Draco’s bedroom, things had become thorny and sensitive between the two. Looking back, she wished she would had stayed put, dug her heels in and simply waited for him to return. They could have had a proper grown-up conversation where they would have both mutually agreed that what had happened was wrong. A mistake. An accident that wouldn’t be repeated. They were grownups now. They could have worked through this.

Although, perhaps that was simply too idealistic.

Tactlessly, Hermione had let her childish nerves get to her, something unbecoming of any Gryffindor, and had run away and hidden downstairs - sprinted from her blunder like a little girl. Her avoidance was reciprocated, as she soon found out. Draco made every effort to avoid her company by tending to his parents upstairs in the days following. She meanwhile felt as though she was experiencing an early onset midlife crisis.

It wasn’t easy to comprehend why they had done what they did – why she had done what she did. But it was frighteningly simple to enact while caught up in the moment, for it to pan out the way it had. How utterly thoughtless she had been. And so of course she had run away. In the aftermath she felt broken, used and yet still so strangely sympathetic towards her former academic peer. It was like she was splitting in two, as if her mind and heart were at war, veering off in two completely different directions.

Hermione’s head had always won in the past though, and after watching an exasperated Draco stalk out of his room, it had told her to vacate as well.

The following days were filled with bare minimum discussion. They were well supplied and had no outing plans, so they both attempted to steer clear of one another. Hermione fiddled with rations, cooked by candlelight, talked to Teddy, and reinforced the protective wards on the safehouse all without his help. Draco hid upstairs, trying to reign in his uncooperative father and avoid her at the same time.

It was going on day five after their incident when Hermione ran out of lentils. It wasn’t until day six that she finally stood her ground and confronted Draco about another outing.

She had caught him at the bottom of the stairs before he had the chance to sneak back up, cornered him and informed him they were running low on supplies.

"It wouldn't take long." She had said, trying to maintain eye contact with him. It was difficult as his pale eyes kept darting around her nervously, as if he didn't want to look at her. That could work to her advantage, she reasoned, to ensure something like their fateful encounter was never repeated.

She ignored the elephant in the room, as it were, and pressed on. He looked unkempt, more so than usual, but he actively squabbled with her about the many perils and dangers of yet another outing. Their last one hadn’t gone quite as well as either of them had hoped, but it was decided they would leave the following morning. Food was, unfortunately, an important commodity and a rather significant necessity if either of them planned on living for much longer.

They wouldn’t go too far, just a small trek through the snowy backstreets into another shopping district. It certainly wasn’t anything either of them hadn’t done before. In fact, Hermione was well accustomed to sneaking around without the shadowy protection of night, all the while having to keep an eye on Toby by her side or on her hip. They would leave the small boy in the safety of the house again as it proved a good choice previously, even though it meant he would yet again be on his own…sort of.

Come daybreak the next morning, they suited up – Draco once again in tattered Death Eater robes and Hermione in her warm, pocket charmed coat. She wondered where his winter coat was, but didn't voice her concerns. They travelled in silence out of both stealth and new-found incompetence towards holding a conversation. They didn't addressed the circumstances pertaining to their actions nights before. It was like a silent agreement had been made and it was odd, almost like they both believed they could sweep the issue under the rug.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Hermione kept her eyes fixed on the back of Draco’s blond head where he walked in front of her. He swore he could feel her stare boring into him accordingly, drawing his hood up over his head to try and hide himself. Still, neither one spoke or made a noise. It was as if a crushing weight had rendered them both thunderstruck, stealing their words.

She was certain he would have bought it up by now, their odd little coupling session. He should have said something – anything by now. A wisecrack about her virginity or perhaps how she fled from his room like a little kid. But he kept quiet and said nothing, mentioned nothing, asked nothing. Perhaps he really didn’t care. Maybe it was just a careless fling with the first female he had seen in four years, aside from his mother. That thought clawed at her more than it rightfully should have. She assured herself that she was thinking too much into it. Her mind did always have a way of overthinking everything. That was one of her strengths, Harry and Ron used to point out, to overthink things into oblivion.

They rounded another corner as they continued on their journey, weaving through abandoned cars caught frozen in the icy drifts. It was like a scene from some sort of Muggle disaster movie Hermione thought she might have seen in her childhood, a world frozen in time by snow and ice.

“Here.” Draco had quickened his pace a little before she heard him speaking to her, breaking her from her reverie. He was indicating to one of the storefronts up ahead and had ducked in through the missing front door. She followed and found she had trailed him into what was once a liquor store, rows of empty shelving and what had once been bottle displays lining the walls.

“Really?” She asked as she caught up with him, eyeing his hooded form warily. Did he even drink? He looked like the kind that might. These were probably the types of things someone should know about another person before they decide to sleep with them, she thought absently to herself.

“I didn’t have us in mind.” Draco replied, trailing through the empty displays until he reached a small, plain door near the back of the store. He tried the handle but found it to be locked. “I thought it might help my parents a little.”

Well, she couldn’t argue with his logic, despite how displeasing it was to hear. It was nice to know he was willing to go out of his way to help his parents, even if just a little. He was surprising her more and more with each passing day. A display of genuine empathy was not something she thought she should ever expect from a Slytherin, let alone him.

A quick _alohamora_ had the door unlocked and Draco easily pushed through. Lo and behold, the entire store room within had been completely untouched. It was piled high with bottles that had simply been sitting around, waiting for the right people to discover their secret little recess. She supposed that in the chaos that erupted in the town prior to its abandonment, people would have been decidedly pressed for time. They couldn’t spare the mere moments it would take to check locked rooms. Not that an abundance of alcohol would have helped them to defend themselves against the Death Eaters anyway.

Draco scanned the dusty bottles, but Hermione wasn’t overly interested in the booze. She left him, exited the stop and headed over to the opposite side of the road. One of the emptied stores on that side bore frail, damaged mannequins in its broken windows. Chances were good that it might have once sold clothes, so she slipped in and looked around, glass crunching underfoot as she moved. Some discarded clothing items had been left strewn across the damaged flooring, but none of it was wearable or useable in any manner. She stalked around for a bit, flattening her untamed hair down in one of the full-length fitting room mirrors she had found. A typical female gesture, even in the midst of scavenging.

“Granger,” Draco was calling after her, and hearing her name spoken aloud still seemed weird after living so long in near silence. “Can you carry something for me?”  
She remerged from the changing room and scoffed at what he was holding in each hand. Two big bottles of booze, no less. But of course. She nodded unenthusiastically as he approached and made to slip the heavy bottles into her pockets, one on either side of her.

“You know—” She began to say when a moving figure over Draco’s shoulder caught her attention. It was clad in black, stalking slowly through the deep snow banks around the cars before heading into the store Draco had just vacated.

Damn it!

No doubt, the figure was able to smell that they had been there somehow. She would kill to know how he did it, to sniff around and pick up their scent like they were animals on a hunt. How were they able to do that? It was definitely a talent that eluded her.

“Don’t move.” Hermione whispered tightly and reached out for Draco’s forearm. She gingerly took a step back and urged him to follow slowly, eyes trained over his shoulder for movement. Slow and steady. Draco’s pale eyes flew wide, but he complied with her and moved as she instructed. They needed to get down and hide without making any sudden movement that would give away their position.

That changing room she had been gawking at herself in would work to conceal them both for now, she surmised, at least until they could devise a plan. Hermione led Draco to the small enclosed cupboard of a room quietly and squeezed inside, pulling the door closed after he had followed her in. She fell to her knees in the small, cramped darkness and hunched up on a pile of discarded clothes, stilling to listen for movement.

“What was it?” Draco whispered, his voice tight with concern above her.

“Snatchers. Probably the ones from the other night.” She replied just as quietly as him, pulling out her wand to begin a warding incantation.


	8. Out Of Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shrugs*

Silence.

Silence and nothing but.

Draco shifted his weight from foot to foot, listening in the dark for movement – any hint that would attest to an enemy lurking nearby. But he heard nothing, nothing at all except Hermione’s jacket crinkling each time her arm made a movement, and the breathy incantations of the _protego_ she was casting.

He wasn’t sure how long he had stood, near holding his breath, waiting for noise. At some point he had leaned himself against one of the walls of their confinement, keeping an ear trained on outside sounds. Hermione completed her spells, finishing with a _disillusionment_ which she placed upon them both.

Huffing a weary sigh, she leaned back as far as she could, which admittedly wasn’t very far, and began racking her brain for ideas on how to proceed next. The Snatchers were a calculating bunch. It seemed that the ones in pursuit had a far superior method of tracking than any of the others she had chanced upon before. Although she didn’t believe they would see past her wards, one couldn’t be too careful – especially not in their predicament. It would be smarter to stay put for now and bide their time, so to speak.

Draco apparently shared her train of thought. She felt him slide to the ground next to her, although couldn’t quite make him out in the darkness. They shared a moment of complete and utter stillness before she piped up, unable to stand the surmounting tension that had formed in the air between them.

“How do you suppose they can smell us?” She asked him in the dim light, narrowing her eyes in thought.

“I don’t know.” She heard him admit and felt the burden of their forced conversation. It felt like he didn’t really want to talk, and so was surprised when he continued. “It wouldn’t surprise me if the Dark Lord let Greyback turn some of them. The heightened sense of smell would help them.”

Hermione furrowed her brows as she mulled over that likely possibility. If it were true, Hermione would have to not only work out a scavenging schedule to incorporate lunar cycles, but also figure out a plan to better defend themselves. Death Eaters were one thing, werewolves were another.

“Are you hurt?” Draco asked, and she felt him pawing at her arm haphazardly in the dark. His question caught her off guard, considering they hadn’t yet been engaged in any combat, and she stumbled over her answer.

“W-what? We haven’t done anythi—”

“No, that’s not what…” He sighed and trailed off, finding her hand and forcibly lacing his long fingers with hers. She was startled at what he was doing, blushing something stupid when she realised he was trying to hold her hand. What an uncharacteristic gesture. Simple yet…not so simple. But she wasn’t one to snub comfort hand-holding, even if it was with a Malfoy. She let him thread his hand through hers with little effort.

“Are you okay?” She asked, fairly concerned regarding his gesture. While it pleased and abetted her own anxiety to hold his hand, she wasn’t sure it did the same for him.

“Just peachy.” He sarcastically drawled and shuffled closer so that their shoulders bumped. The contact was reassuring and well-received, perhaps what she had been yearning for after feeling so cut off from him over the past few days. She subconsciously leaned into him a little, quietly delighting in his proximity.

“Do you think they are still out there?” Draco whispered, and she nearly jumped at how close his voice sounded, how she felt his breath fan softly across her face as he huddled next to her. It was unnaturally intimate for either of them, an odd little farce, but to Hermione the position felt incoherently correct.

She didn’t know the answer to his question. She didn’t care. Draco’s thumb had begun rubbing small circles into her palm and it was all she could concentrate on, other thoughts and worries pushed to the back of her mind while he was bought to the forefront.

“Malfoy,” She whispered but it was barely audible. “What are you doing?”

She heard his other arm moving, felt his free hand coming up to cup her cheek. He was guiding himself to the location of her lips, she realised, almost a fraction too late. She barely had time to react as he pressed his mouth against hers, tender and chaste with no hint of panic or frenzy present. It was so unlike their last encounter.

But what was this? What was he doing? All thoughts of an unspoken agreement regarding their so-called prior encounter were apparently discarded as Draco ignored his prior days of snubbing and hiding away from her, choosing instead to snog her while in danger, of all places.

And it was a nice snog too, the kind that Hermione imagined her first might have been like once upon a time (albeit not inside an abandoned changing room with Snatchers on the prowl). It was gentle and felt, heaven forbid, somewhat meaningful. Was Draco Malfoy capable of meaningful kisses? Passionate, yes, but meaningful?

Her stomach did somersaults as she felt his tongue peek out to trace her bottom lip corner to corner, sampling her gently. But her mind reeled back to the inelegant eagerness of their first interaction, the way her brain had simply left her as Draco’s hand had guided her toward his bed. She had been so caught up in the feelings and emotions of passion to think clearly, to realise they were both making a gargantuan mistake.

“We shouldn’t do this.” Hermione protested as Draco’s lips left hers. Her heart broke in time with their contact, hungering to be reacquainted again. But her head implored her to reconsider. “It’s reckless and serves no purpose.”

“It doesn’t?” Hermione could almost hear him leering at her, his voice full of mirth. “I thought its purpose was to feel good. And I certainly felt good last time. Didn’t you?”

He was like velvet, lulling her into a false sense of safety and contentment. Hermione screwed her face up in the dark, fishing for rebuttals. He had to be kidding. This was no place to be conducting such discussions, nor tender make-out sessions. “Any pleasure felt is entirely outweighed by risk, Malfoy.”

“Risk?” Draco scoffed, and she was glad he couldn’t see her blush. “Your protective wards are superior than most, Granger. I’m sure we’ll be safe” Then a pause. “But the Snatchers aren’t the risk you’re really talking about, are they?”

She puffed at him, narrowing her eyes. While the Snatchers were a very high priority and of the utmost importance in their current situation, it was the stupidity of their first encounter that she wasn’t eager to repeat. She had been careless, too enthralled in her growing appetite to consider their age and positioning - among other things. If Muggle films had taught her anything, it was that romances like theirs simply didn’t work.

They should have been preoccupied with war, with survival and existence. Necessities should have been the most pressing matter, not recreational sex. Hermione felt a shard of guilt slice through her, a thought of Teddy emerged in her mind, all alone in the safehouse, awaiting their safe return. She was responsible for him, responsible for getting him through this war safe and alive.

“There are more pressing matters,” She blurted out, cringing as soon as she spoke. Even to her own ears it seemed like weak reasoning. “You know that.”

“You’re a smart girl, Granger,” He had shifted to her neck, nuzzling into it fondly. “This won’t change any of that. If you thought it would have, you wouldn’t have played along the first time.”

“I didn’t play along. I was coerced.” She informed him in a scolding manner, but her insides were softly melting, her neck moving to accommodate his lips.

He pulled back and sneered into the darkness. “Of course. I forced you to ride my cock.”

“Do you have to be so foul?” Her face twisted into a grimace despite a peculiar flushing heat creeping its way up her body. Something about the way profanities just fell out of his mouth was entirely too enticing. Dangerous, even.

“Around you, yes. Not one for dirty talk, huh?” He questioned, and she could hear him grinning again, obviously enjoying the scope of their conversation.

“If you call that dirty talk.”

“Are you going to school me in dirty talk, Professor Granger?” His manner perked up and she heard him shuffling around next to her.

She sighed irritably. “Oh, do shut up.”

“Well, I have been a bad boy, I suppose. Show me the error of my ways, Miss.”

“Honestly, stop.” She caught herself before she begged, unwilling to show him how much his words were affecting her. His tone, demeaner, and façade had all shifted. Suddenly he sounded more like the Draco she remembered from school – that platinum blond boy who thought he could get away with anything. Cast in shadow, it was becoming hard to visualise his current, war-weary self. It would be easy to pretend she was a child again.

“C’mon, Granger. Give me your best. Talk dirty to me.” He instructed, and she shook her head to clear it.

“Are you joking? When I said there are more pressing matters, I meant it.”

He paused, then in a low voice whispered, “Were you a virgin?”

“W-what?” She spluttered incredulously, eyes wide as she stared at the nothingness in his general direction. Was this really where he was guiding their conversation? Was this really what he was asking her?

“You were, weren’t you? Fuck, why didn’t you say anything?” His tone was unusually sympathetic, one she hadn’t yet heard him convey. Was he worried?

“What would you have done differently if I had said anything?” She shot the question straight back at him, blushing and flustered and mad all at once.

“I don’t know. Maybe…not have been so rough.”

“Very chivalrous of you.” She commended under her breath, annoyed at herself for humouring him.

“Chivalry would be taking you for round two so you know I’m not a one-off kind of guy.”

She stalled. “A what?”

“Did you come at least?” She felt like he was interrogating her, and that creeping heat did nothing but burn higher and hotter at his flippant use of vulgarities.

“Why are we talking about this now?”

“I need closure.”

“I don’t know. Yes, I think, if you must know.” She shook her head again, scowling to herself. Why was she answering him? Why was she playing along?

“You think? Fucking hell. Sorry about that.” He sounded genuinely hurt, as if his own pride had been injured by her confession.

“Why are you sorry?”

“No one has fun their first time. I didn’t know I was your first.” He spoke with a distinct tone of remorse, and she chewed her bottom lip quietly, unsure of what to say.

He was apologising for what had happened and surely that was progress, but why didn’t it feel like it was? Why did it feel as though Draco had just gone and made everything even more complicated than it already had been?

She was about to throw him a quip when a burst of light commotion from the other side of the door startled her. Both Hermione and Draco paused where they sat, ears straining to hear what was happening. Heavy footfall against the shop floor indicated one of the Snatchers had entered. Judging from the noise, he stalked slowly from one side of the shop to the other, no doubt trying to sniff them out.

After the briefest of moments, the noise subsided and faded away. Hermione released a stifled breath, checking her wards to ensure they were still working strong. They were, of course, but she needed reassurance – and a way to escape from the conversation at hand.

But Draco spoke up once more, drawing her back in. “Let me try again.”

“What? No!” Hermione whisper-yelled, puzzled at his perceived keen interest in a round two. It was really not the time, nor the place.

“C’mon.” He drawled, squeezing her hand where she realised he still held it tightly. She quietened as he bought his other hand back to her face, resuming his prior position, “I know you want to.”

She knocked both of his hands away. “Malfoy, you are disgusting.”

“Yes, but I’m also turned on.” He found her face with both of his hands this time, leaning forward and pressing himself close to her. “Hold still for a second.”

“Your foreplay is certainly lacking.” She reprimanded and tried to knock him away again. Draco ignored her and leaned himself in closer until his forehead grazed hers.

“Okay, how about ‘take of your pants so I can finger fuck you until you drip down my hand’. Better?”

“Malfoy!” She gasped and he pressed his lips firmly against hers in a blind, off-centre kiss. It worked though. She grabbed his forearms tightly, fighting against him until he released her mouth. When they finally popped apart, he sniggered.

“I’d prefer you to shout ‘ _Draco_ ’, but whatever works for you.”

She was speechless at his frivolous nature regarding sex. Was this the way he used to talk to the girls back at Hogwarts? Harry and Ron certainly never spoke to her in such a manner, although sometimes she wistfully wished they would. Even Victor Krum hadn’t tried to seduce her with words, not that he knew many. She wondered if the Slytherin bints had all heard their fair share of Draco’s dirty talk. Such vulgarities and crudeness left her hot under the collar, but also lost and uncoordinated when she considered who was speaking.

His voice, so familiar yet so alien, left her disjointed and cast deep amongst a sea of peculiar craving. She was practically drowning, desperately trying to keep her head afloat and level. He pressed his lips against hers again and she found she met his kiss with a curiously open mouth, inhaling sharply as a wave of unwarranted indulgence crashed over her.

She was sinking, tossed deep by the turbulence of his craving.

She marvelled in the way he tasted like nothing she had experienced before. Like the forest, the earth. Everything she had fantasised he might taste like when she was younger, when she had imagined he might plunder her mouth with his own in her girlish daydreams.

But it wasn’t right. They shouldn’t be doing it.

She broke their kiss of angrily, huffing to herself as her mind resurfaced.

“We can’t do this.” She was essentially begging him as she felt his hands working on the buttons of her coat, finding her own hands were neither helping nor stilling his desperation.

“Yes, we can.”

“I can’t do this.” She clarified, and only then did he pause.

“Seriously?” He sounded peeved, as if she had just dumped a bucket of ice cold water over him.

“I can’t believe it even happened once.” She admitted, finding his hands still at her buttons and covering them with her own. “What idiots we were.”

“Idiots?” He pulled his hands away and sat back, withdrawing himself from her contact. “The only idiot I see is the one who can’t justify even a tiny bit pleasure in the monstrosity that is the world.”

It shouldn’t have hurt, she knew, but it did. His words wounded her more than she thought they could, considering she didn’t share the same opinions as him. He spoke with an air of superiority like he would have used on her back in school, when he was lording something over her and trying to belittle her.

“If it were only that simple.” She murmured and lowered her head solemnly in the dark.

“It is that simple. You think abstaining from something pleasurable will somehow win the war?”

Surely, he had to see that any distraction from survival was simply that – a distraction. An interference. Something that could hurt them. She tried to protest her view.

“Keeping a clear head without distraction will—”

“Will turn you into a hollow husk of a person!” He snarled, and she cowered back at his sudden outburst.

“Why are you so angry?” She demanded as she regained composure, urgently needing to understand. She wasn’t sure what he meant, what he was trying to convey.

“Because of all the people to come and fuck up my existence, it had to be you.”

“Well, I’m sorry.” She sat quietly. She wasn’t sure how many minutes had passed before she gathered the nerve to speak again. Two? Fifteen? “If you feel that way, Teddy and I will leave you in peace.”

“ _NO_. Don’t go.” He spoke like it injured him to do so, like his jaw was clenched tightly, restrained. His hands were reaching for hers again in the dark, searching instinctively. She had never heard him speak in such a way, and his desperation frightened her. “Don’t leave me. I don’t want to be alone.”

She could feel her mind trying to leave her again as her heart twisted uncomfortably, beating in a familiar refrain of sorrow. He was a distraction. It wasn’t right. There were too many other things that were more important than him – more important than her.

She shouldn’t. She absolutely shouldn’t.

But she did.

She kissed him. Not because it was the smartest thing to do, or even the right thing. She kissed him because she had never heard speak so sincerely before, be so vulnerable and open. She kissed him because she needed to.

“You won’t be alone.”

He didn’t kiss her back at first, and it troubled her deeply. Instead, she found she slowly roused him as she moulded her lips to his, felt him slowly come to life under her touch. Before long he was meeting her kisses, deepening them, angling his face to connect in unspoken harmony with hers. He was gentle, tender, yet fervent, slowly building up courage to nip and tug at her mouth, imploring her to part her lips with his tongue and open herself to him.

When she did, she felt his hands slide up her neck, knotting in her tangled hair to better position himself. She fisted her own hands and found they were full of his robes, pulling determinedly at where they hung around his neck. She broke their kiss with a groan and let her head drop back, felt Draco drag his mouth down the flesh of her neckline where he caressed her with his tongue.

“We really shouldn’t.” She repeated but the force behind her words had vanished, just like her reasoning. Instead it was just an empty sentence, a placeholder that she didn’t quite believe in anymore.

“I know.” Draco was sliding the heavy coat from off of her shoulders, simultaneously pushing her back against the discarded clothing pile beneath her.

Her heart had won again.


	9. Desperation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just pure citrus. Sorry.

Desperation was a dangerous thing, albeit simultaneously amusing given the correct circumstances.

It was desperation that had Hermione clawing her way through wooded battlefields alongside Harry and Ron years before, pushing her deeper and further into seclusion as they hunted for Horcruxes. It was desperation that had forced her to stay by Harry’s side as Ron had deserted them, indulging in the dangerous ideals coming from the locket he had worn. Desperation had reinforced her loyalty to Harry, beyond even what she had thought possible. Beyond even the boy she thought she had been in love with.

And now her desperation, fuelled by an undeniable fear of isolation, drove her to crave the company of another human being. Even if only temporary, and she was fairly sure it could only be, she was drawn to Draco Malfoy like a moth to a perilous flame.

On his part, Draco seemed driven by a similar propellant, his own distress permitting displays of such unusual audacity, even for him. They were two of a kind in that respect; war-hardened, foolhardy and broken.

Both badly damaged goods.

But he was far more fragmented that her, a bit more desperate. The mere suggestion of parting ways seemed to have hit a vulnerable nerve and he had to quickly channel his energy into restraining himself, lest he come off as too dangerous to consort with.

And their principles diverged greatly.

He was lonely, and rightfully so. Practically starved for warmth and attention. According to their dejection, Draco felt the right to seek solace in her touch, something she fastidiously worked against. Ignoring distraction altogether was, for her, the only way she and Teddy had been surviving thus far.

The only way to move forward.

Keep a clear head. No distraction. No interference. That was the plan in order to avoid becoming stagnant in their efforts.

Although Draco did have a point.

When a person stops changing, stops feeling, stops trying, were they prone to deteriorate? _To die?_

Hermione’s head felt fuzzy, her body adrift a sea of inky blackness as Draco ran firm hands down her form. She was unusually placid for someone in such a predicament, with snatchers on the prowl just beyond the barrier of her spellwork.

Draco’s gentle caresses and touches invoked a fog that sat thick in Hermione’s thoughts, clogging up her rational thinking and reasoning ability. She was not quite herself in such a moment and, as Draco managed to shimmy her jeans down over her hips, she realised she should have been disgusted in herself – but she wasn’t, couldn’t quite bring herself to be.

She should have been rightfully sickened by the way her body betrayed her, by the way it throbbed as she felt Draco’s steady touch – his distraction; hands on overly sensitised areas she otherwise ignored – but she couldn’t will herself to be.

All mammals were drawn to his, weren’t they? Meaningless coupling? She tried to force her brain to think logically for a moment but came up short. Her judgement felt weighed down with the gravity of what was happening, the significance and severity of both she and Draco’s actions.

“I have to admit,” She heard Draco’s muffled timbre against her skin, felt the vibration of his voice through her body. It cut to her core. “You were a weird looking thing in school.”

Hermione snorted automatically and pushed at his shoulders for leverage, trying her best to study his face in the dark. She couldn’t make out a thing.

“Oh, _I_ was the weird looking one?”

She heard him chuckle, felt him dip down and then splay large hands over her bare thighs. As if on cue she snapped her legs closed in a display of bashfulness, only to feel them be pried apart easily by Draco’s firm hands as he wedged himself between them. She recognised vaguely that her body was trying to play coy with him, protest him but secretly.

She was an embarrassing mess of hormonal chaos.

“What are you trying to say, Granger?” He was hip-to-hip against her, still fully clothed against her naked skin. She could feel his breath where It fanned against her neck, could imprecisely locate his mouth somewhere above her. “Did you not find me very _fetching_ in school?”

She wanted to kiss the no-doubt smirk he was wearing to stop him from talking. If only he knew. Of course, she had found him attractive – and then some. Like most of her female peers, she fathomed, she had a hard time wrapping her head around Lucius Malfoy’s son. How could someone who looked so angelic be so horrid? She had crushed hard and fast on the antagonist of her best friend’s life.

But her chance to kiss him was taken away. Instead she felt a hand slide underneath and coax her to turn. Perhaps too enthusiastically she rolled onto her stomach and then under the guidance of Draco’s hand, was pulled up onto all fours.

Draco was firmly against her back, his taller build dwarfing her smaller frame as he nibbled the skin of her neck and buried his face in her hair. His hands roamed across her front, grazing her still-clad breasts and dancing across the planes of her stomach.

Each touch, no matter how tender or gentle, sent muscles tingling beneath her skin. His elegant fingers tickled, but it wasn’t enough to distract her from the prominent bulge Draco kept pressed firmly between her legs.

She felt a twinge deep down, a sudden urge to grind backward against him. It was a shockingly lewd desire; one Hermione felt her logic struggling to rationalise. Then, she considered, she couldn’t really rationalise any of her recent actions.

“Fetching?” She bit her lip to stifle a laugh, craning her neck to one side to provide better access. Draco continued his assault on her neck, lips and teeth working together in tandem to both mark and please. “I suppose when I was at school…when I was alone…I would think about you sometimes.”

“What did you used to think about me?” The movements of his hands were like electricity against her skin, soft and barely there. She hummed as a tickle ran up her spine.

“I used to touch myself…and…”

“Do go on.” He thumbed a sweet spot between her legs and she practically bucked back against him.

“I used to touch myself and imagine it was you.” She conceded in a rush, bashful yet brazen in her admission. She no longer knew who she was, felt her last remnants of lucid thinking slip away.

“Like this? Is this what you imagined?” Draco slipped a hand below the elastic of her underwear and found her entrance, wet and warm for him. She shuddered at the sensation, self-conscious of her own arousal.

“Yes!” She moaned out, arching back against him as he found the apex of her sex and toyed with her skilfully. She wasn’t sure how he knew what she liked, only that he had become an expert musician and she his finely tuned instrument.

“I’ll tell you a secret, Granger.” He whispered into her tangle of hair as he played with her. She didn’t respond, too caught up on the vicious movements of his fingers to react. She urgently tried to turn her head toward his voice, frustrated that she was unable to latch her lips onto his.

“When I was with other girls back in school,” He murmured, slowing his fingers and circling her clit. Each little movement was agonising pleasure. “When I touched and tasted them and _fucked_ them…”

She mewed against him, a noise she had never heard herself make before, and ardently squeezed her thighs together, trapping his hand in place. Draco paused in his ministrations, taking the moment to wrangle Hermione’s hair to the side before whispering against the side of her head. 

“I always imagined it was you.”

The revelation was enough to drive anyone over the edge, let alone the wanton wreck that she had become. It was too much. He was too much.

“Draco…” She whispered into the air, suddenly cold as she felt him straighten himself.

She heard him pulling his robes to one side and unzipping his fly. In the dark limits of the changing room the sounds seemed amplified, and every little rustle of clothing had Hermione on edge. She was practically on fire, burning up from the inside out when he finally touched her again.

His hands found her hips, pulling her up and backward. And then she felt him, warm skin on skin as he fumbled in the dark to line himself up with her slick heat.

He shushed her as she mewed again, lining himself up with one hand up and using the other to push down on the small of her back.

“Be quiet, yeah?” He requested before she felt him push into her. She instantly submitted to his voice, lowering herself into a bow as she felt him fill her again, inch by inch, deeply and in one slow movement.

This time the pain was considerably less noticeable to her. Instead of discomfort, Hermione found it easier to focus on how deeply he was sheathed inside her, how wonderfully tight she was stretched around him.

Ever the gentleman, she was pleased to feel Draco start slow, careful strokes, rocking himself back and forth with shallow thrusts. She found it easy to match him, fisting handfuls of discarded fabric beneath her as he kept her steadily in place. Each rock of his hips was precise and exact.

Controlled.

“Harder,” She found herself begging, despite her best intentions. His pace didn’t increase with her request, his thrusts remaining light.

“Please, harder, please,” She tried again, this time spurring a chuckle from behind. Draco’s thrusts became stronger, deeper, sharper as he complied with her request.

She emitted a low groan, leaning down further into her bowing position in order to push her arse up higher, encouraging and offering him a better angle. He smirked although she couldn’t see it, pulling all the way out before pushing back in with each pump of his hips. He filled her deeper, his grasp of control slipping with his quickening pace.

Hermione panted heavily into the dark, her heart beating out a speedy rhythm as he coaxed her closer and closer to the edge. It was unreal that two completely opposite beings should work so well together, could bring each other such joy and ecstasy. It was amusing, even.

_Desperation_ , her mind told her sternly. Amusing and dangerous.

“F-fuck,” She heard Draco pant over her shoulder between strokes, such a colloquium spoken by him proving too much.

She came near violently, grinding back against him as hard as she could. It took only a couple more strident, deep thrusts before he, too, fell beyond the edge of bliss, his breath something like a moan as it left his lips.


End file.
